chronicles
by wild wolf free17
Summary: Eliot drabbles, with little sidesteps along the way
1. the horses I will ride into eternity

**Title**: the horses I will ride into eternity

**Fandom**: "Leverage"

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Anne Sexton

**Warnings**: spoilers for "The Two-Horse Job"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 105

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Eliot has only ever been good at two things: riding horses and fighting. He had considered going into showing, but that didn't work out when he couldn't stay out of fights, so he decided to focus on his other skill.

He misses horses, their scent and their noise, the way they felt beneath him. He misses how complete he felt, on the back of a horse, out in the field or the arena, nothing else but how they moved.

But he has fighting now, and it doesn't feel as right as a horse and the ground and nothing else but the sky—but right enough.


	2. the brittle strength of bones

**Title**: the brittle strength of bones

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Milton.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "The First David Job", 1.12

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 120

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

He's gone so long without losing that he's gotten cocky. He's caught off-guard and the guy is good—pretty damn good. Eliot doesn't have a chance to catch his breath; the fucker just keeps coming and coming and coming—finally, Eliot throws him off and he pauses, panting, and demands, "Why won't you go down?"

And that's his mistake. Eliot's hurt and tired, but he's nowhere near beaten, and he would never give his opponent time to rest.

So Eliot smirks, blood on his lips, and puts him down. He's taken his measure of the guy, and that little break was enough.

He had gotten cocky, yeah, but he learns from his mistakes, and there's a reason he's the best.


	3. we belong together

**Title**: We belong together like the open seas and shores

**Fandom**: "Leverage"/"Angel the Series" crossover

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Daughtry.

**Warnings**: spoilers for Ats; AU for AtS season five

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 715

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: not in chronological order

* * *

_You gonna go after Wolfram and Hart?_ Lindsey asks from the mirror.

And Eliot answers, _Someday_.

o0o

They'd been best friends, growing up, identical twins with dirt-poor parents, two older brothers and a sister four years after.

Only Eliot and their sister are still alive.

o0o

_It wasn't your fault, _Lindsey tells him when nightmares wake him up gasping. _I wanted out. You didn't chase me away. _

_I didn't chase after you, either, _Eliot says, and doesn't sleep for the rest of the night.

o0o

Lindsey got the brains and Eliot got the brawns—that's what their eldest brother used to say. Lindsey spent all his time studying, had the highest grades in their year all the way to graduation. Eliot got in daily fights and only learned when Lindsey made him quiz him.

Lindsey graduated at the top of their class, with grades perfect enough for Wolfram and Hart to come calling. Eliot barely graduated at all.

o0o

_I need to know you forgive me, _Lindsey whispers. _That's the only way I can move on._

Eliot doesn't say a thing.

o0o

They saw each other sporadically over the years, with random phone calls in-between. Lindsey was an up-and-coming lawyer, while Eliot floundered. And then Eliot fell into the underbelly of society and found his calling.

Lindsey had always been driven to be the best, to shine, to rise above all the rest. Eliot finally realized how that felt and he rose through the ranks swiftly, the jack of all trades in retrieving or assassinating. Lindsey once asked his brother where he was going; Eliot choked on a laugh and rumbled out, _Hell_.

o0o

_They're good people_, Lindsey says. _I'm glad you've fallen in with them_.

Eliot nods, but replies, _Not as good as you'da been_.

o0o

Lindsey never said goodbye. He said he had some loose ends to tie up in LA and he'd be back in three weeks.

Eliot had a job in Moscow. He was a world away when he heard Lindsey scream and then—nothing.

o0o

_Eliot_, Lindsey murmurs sometimes, _turn left_. Or _Not that way_. Or _Bad guy, duck!_ Before Lindsey died, Eliot had been a kick-ass fighter, but after? No one could get the drop on him.

He'd trade the reputation and prowess in less than a heartbeat to have his brother breathing again.

o0o

Eliot spent a month at his little sister's home in Oklahoma City. She was the only family he had left. Her twin daughters were six and little boy eight. He took a break from retrieving to look after them and feel like a real person again.

It didn't work. He only felt alive when he was breaking bones or making people bleed, and that didn't worry him as much as it should. So he kissed his sister and the kiddos goodbye and vanished back into the underbelly of society, never pausing or resting, searching for something that died in Los Angeles when he wasn't looking.

o0o

_You're gonna get yourself killed, _Lindsey yells in the middle of a brawl. He's been dead for three years and Eliot doesn't look over, just ducks a punch and kicks some poor bastard in the ribs.

_Fuck you_, Lindsey snarls. Eliot takes a hit in the face and keeps smiling.

o0o

After they had make-up sex years too late, Aimee said, "I heard about your twin. I'm sorry."

Eliot pretended to be asleep.

o0o

_Forgive me_, Lindsey begs. _El, come on. It's been four years. Let me go_.

_No_, Eliot says.

o0o

Lindsey's middle name had been Spencer. Growing up, his hair had always been a wild tangle until high-school, when he cut it to look more respectable.

They'd both loved horses. Never felt as free as on the back of a horse.

o0o

_Devereaux_ _suspects there's more to you than breaking_ _faces_, Lindsey whispers. _Hardison looked into your background. Ford's heard about you beyond what your file says. And Parker—man, she's ten pounds of crazy in a five-pound bag._

_Don't worry 'bout me, Linny_, Eliot says. _The only person I trust is dead_.

o0o

Eliot was never a team player. He couldn't trust anyone—a character flaw, Dad said. Mom said it was smart.

Lindsey, though, didn't just play on a team. He led it.

o0o

_You gonna go after Wolfram and Hart?_ Lindsey asks from the mirror.

And Eliot answers, _Today_.


	4. you'll spend your last heartbeat

**Title**: you'll spend your last heartbeat chasin' after rainbows

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Big&Rich.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season finale

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 455

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: I'm playing fast-and-loose with geography. Sorry.

* * *

_We made a difference. Remember that. _

He's got Nate listed as his emergency contact, but that's only if he's in the US and found under his own name. Considering his profession and proclivities, that's not too likely. But he needed to put someone down, and since his sister had kicked him out of her life, he figured Nate—responsible and respectable—was better than anyone else he knew.

He is in the US, and he is using his own name. Actually, he's three blocks from where their headquarters used to be, on vacation as a civilian. Nearly a year since they all went their separate ways. He hasn't heard from any of them or called any of them, and it's good being on his own again. Really. No one to count on, no one to watch while waiting for a knife in the back. Just himself, like it should be. He works better alone.

Last he heard, Nate had gotten back together with Maggie, Sophie was down in Australia conning some rich cowboy, Parker was in South America, and Hardison was living like a geek god in New York. And him, he'd gone back to retrieving. He just couldn't not do something, and it was the only thing he'd ever been good at besides riding horses.

But he's on vacation, using his own name, in Los Angeles. It's all legal. Rented a car, a hotel room, checking out all the touristy sights he missed when he lived there. It's… nice. He's a civilian, like the millions of other people in the city.

That's his mistake, he realizes instantaneously, the second the bullet hits him. He feels it, then he hears it, and then he goes down.

Fuck, he hates guns. They're cheating. Cowardly. Too easy. Anyone can use a gun. Screaming, panicking—he's at the La Brea Tar Pits and he's bleeding all over it.

"Got him," he hears. "Yeah, okay."

He'll remember that voice. He'll remember the hands that patted him down, that stole his five knives and left him there. He'll remember the eyes and mouth that smirked as a stranger's face said, "Vic sends his regards, fucker," and then spit on him.

He's in the US and using his own name. And someone had to've called 911, so he'll survive this. He's survived worse. And they'll call Nate. And Nate—responsible, respectable, the best man Eliot has ever known—will come, and Eliot'll heal, and he remembers that face, so he'll find the guy—that's what he does, after all—and he'll make the guy pay.

Fuck, it's cold. Summer in LA, it shouldn't be cold. He's had worse and he'll survive until the ambulance shows up. He'll survive.

It's what he does.


	5. though they bruised, they did not kill

**Title**: though they bruised, they did not kill

**Fandom**: "Leverage"/"Supernatural" crossover

**Disclaimer**: not my charcters; just for fun. Title from Anne Sexton.

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season four of "Supernatural"; spoilers for season one finale of "Leverage"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: written for leverage500, to the prompt of _light_

* * *

_In the beginning_

"Eliot," a male voice says out of nowhere.

He startles, jerks around. No one's snuck up on him in over five years and he flips the knife around in his grip, ready to strike.

The room is empty but for him. Maybe he imagined it; maybe he left the com in his ear. He reaches up to check, but no--the com is with Leverage, which burned in LA. He's alone here.

But the voice contradicts him by saying his name again.

"Who's there?" he demands, palming a second knife.

A crack of light blinds him; when he can see again, a man stands there, in a wrinkled beige trenchcoat. "Eliot," he says.

Eliot strikes, jamming one knife into the guy's chest and slitting his throat with the other. But the man doesn't go down; he just brings a hand up to the knife in his chest and pulls it out.

"That is tiresome," he says.

Eliot stares, whispers, "The fuck?" as the man's throat heals up without a scratch.

The man says somberly, "I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord. We have work for you."

Mouth open, Eliot can't think of a thing to say.


	6. the best of the best of the best, sir

Title: the best of the best of the best, sir

Fandom: "Leverage"/_High School Musical_ crossover

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from _Men In Black_

Warnings: pre-pilot; pre-movies

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 335

Point of view: third

* * *

The couple is frightened and angry, both pale and trembling. They are as all-American as a stereotype can come. Their young daughter sits between them, tears pouring down her face. Her long blonde hair is greasy and unbrushed. Both parents look just as unbathed.

"How long has your son been missing?" Eliot asks, directing the question to the father.

The mother answers, "A week." Her voice is strong and he reassesses her.

"Why have you come to me?" He is honestly curious; kidnappings are not his forte. He prefers cut and dry inanimate objects.

It is the father's turn to speak. "The police had no leads and no ideas. All my contacts in the FBI have more important things to do." The words are bitter. "I'm not a congressman or in the Senate; I just own a resort."

Eliot nods sympathetically. "How did you get my name?"

The mother shrugs, pulling her daughter closer. "You're an open secret, Mr. Spencer. We don't talk about it, but everyone knows." She names a man he did business with well over a year ago. He remembers that case: it was fun, and only a few people died.

"When was the last time any of you saw the boy?" he asks.

"He asked me for a ride home." The daughter finally speaks, her voice almost lost in a sob. "But I…" She buries her face in her hands, crying. "I was angry so I said no."

The mother wraps her arms around the girl and the father meets Eliot's gaze. "Money is no problem, Mr. Spencer. Just, please… bring Ryan home."

"I can't promise anything, Mr. Evans," he says. "But I'll do my best."

Not his usual case at all, but it's been awhile since one has been this challenging. He welcomes it.

He leaves the family crying together; no one vanishes with no trail to mark their passage, and he is the best. If this kid can be found, Eliot will be the one to find him.


	7. a reason to start over new

**Title**: a reason to start over new

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; quote from Emmylou Harris; title from Hoobastank.

**Warnings**: takes place between seasons; mentions child abuse

**Pairings**: Eliot/Hardison, Nate/Sophie

**Rating**: PGish

**Wordcount**: 2820

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: thanks to redfirecracker for reading through this

**Dedication**: moonchildfic; prompts were _Hardison sees Eliot's scars for the first time_ and _The team has to help Eliot recover from captivity and torture_

* * *

_He came out of nowhere, no shirt on his back, armed for survival, no plan of attack._

o0o

Eliot has a scar across his belly-button. It's been there so long he actually forgot about it until Hardison's fingers trail along his torso and catch on it. Hardison traces it and Eliot shivers, bringing a hand up to touch Hardison's smooth, unmarked chest.

The room is dark. Eliot mutters, "We doin' this or what, Hardison?"

"Alec," he replies. "Here, I'm Alec."

Eliot's assent is biting Alec's shoulder and the scar is forgotten.

o0o

Parker watches as Eliot changes from his normal clothes to the costume. He'd flicked his eyes to her hiding spot when he entered the room, but he didn't say anything, so she stayed.

She has seen naked men before, but not one so scarred. It fascinates her and she wants to touch, but Eliot is so skittish that even brushing up against him makes him tense and pull away.

"No one likes a Peepin' Tom, Parker," he calls, turning to face her while buttoning his shirt.

She drops down and smiles at him. "I like your scars," she says. "Where'd you get 'em?"

He pulls his hair back and rolls his shoulders, loosening up. "I'm a retrieval specialist," he drawls and smirks.

She cocks her head, eyeing the shirt. It's tight across his chest, clearly a size too small.

"Eliot," she says. "Just tell Nate you're not going to—"

He cuts her off. "I do my part." He stalks up to her and she straightens to her full height. "If Nate needs me to go undercover, I go undercover."

As he passes her, she brushes his shoulder and he shifts out of reach. "That scar across your belly—where'd you get it?"

He pauses at the door. "Hey, Parker," he says, his tone making her tense. "Was it your daddy?"

Parker's mouth drops open. Eliot doesn't look back as he stalks out.

o0o

Sophie sips her margarita, watching the men on auction. Most of them ham it up, clearly enjoying the attention. Eliot is playing the part, but he isn't happy. The women love his hunted look. Sophie knows he'll sell for a lot.

Their target has been nursing a glass of water all night. Her eyes haven't left Eliot. She'll take the bait here and while distracted, Hardison will do whatever it is he does and their client will get reparations.

In and out, easy. Except as Sophie watches, Eliot's hunted look turns haunted when it's his turn. Sophie's fingers tighten around her glass. Something isn't right here.

The bid starts at five thousand and Eliot's face blanks. Finally, like planned, it comes down to Sophie and the mark. Eliot glances at the other woman and then Sophie before looking at the stage beneath his feet.

Sophie wins the bid. She uses her own money instead of their company's, and she takes Eliot out to dinner. He says nothing except his order throughout the meal and finally, once they're back on the street heading to the car, he asks, "Why?"

She stops, waits for him to look at her, and says, "I never saw you afraid until tonight."

Eliot's face tightens. "I'm never scared," he growls and stalks away.

Sophie watches him go in silence.

o0o

Nate paces around his office, trying to make a new plan. Sophie won't explain why she didn't follow through on their first, and Eliot—well, Eliot's only spoken in monosyllables for the last day.

When Nate thinks about it, he realizes something has been wrong with Eliot since they took this job. Nate pauses, drumming his fingers on his thigh. He's read everything known about Eliot Spencer, which isn't much. No one's even sure if that's his birth name. Nothing on record before his twenties. A few traffic citations, public disturbances. No jail time in the United States because there was never enough hard evidence, even if everyone involved knew it was him.

Of the team, Nate knows the most about Hardison and the least about Parker. Until the David jobs, he'd thought he knew Sophie. But Eliot—even after they met in Beirut that first time, Eliot was a ghost. A lot is rumored _of_ Eliot, speculated. Everyone is sure about only one thing: he doesn't like guns. No one knows why, or even if he can use one. But he doesn't like them.

Nate could have Hardison dig deep, follow the scantest crumb to Eliot's past. But such an invasion of truth—Eliot would never forgive him. Eliot would be right to never forgive him.

Nate glances at the door. He needs to know why the plan went south, why Sophie didn't follow through. If he can't count on his team, he needs to understand why.

He settles at his desk and picks up the phone. "Hardison," he says. "I need to speak with Eliot. Find him, please." As he's hanging up, he hears Hardison grumble, "I ain't no damn secretary, man." He grins.

o0o

Alec looks over to the window, where Eliot is staring up at the sky. Alec misses the office building; Nate paid for it, but Alec spent a great deal of time and money decorating it and setting everything up. The new place, it's just not Leverage, the company. The whole team lives there, now. It's big enough for everyone to have their own set of rooms.

He's waiting for the right moment to ask Eliot to move in with him, to share a bed for longer than one night. The hard part is already done: they live in the same house.

"Hey, Eliot," he calls when Eliot doesn't react to Nate's summons.

"Yeah, I heard," Eliot says without turning. "I just—"

Something is wrong. Has been since they took this job. Alec pushes his chair back and stands, strides to Eliot. He doesn't touch—he learned the hard way that Eliot has to initiate contact or else. He just stands next to him, waiting.

"Alec," Eliot murmurs after a moment. "Before your Nana, what was life like?"

Alec shrugs. "My daddy died in a car wreck and Mama got picked up for trickin'. I lived the clichéd black man's life, dude."

Eliot glances at him out the corner of his eye. "Were you ever—"

"No," Alec assures him quietly. "No one ever hurt me, Eliot."

"You'd tell me if someone had?" Eliot asks. There's coiled tension in him; Alec can see him in the midst of a brawl, the last man standing. Before Eliot, Alec had never really understood _dangerous_.

"Of course," Alec lies. "I'd tell you."

Eliot nods. "I'll go talk to Nate."

o0o

It's been a long time since Eliot thought about his scars. Most of them, he remembers where they came from. If not the moment, then the place. The job. He stopped counting before he'd become a retrieval specialist. He stopped counting a while ago, in his stepfather's house. His mother remarried a hard, cold man after Dad left. He hated his stepfather on sight, but Mom never asked how he felt.

Nate's going to ask about the job, he knows. But he can't explain. He hasn't ever explained, not to the police, not to the doctors.

"Eliot," Alec says behind him. Always Alec now.

"Yeah?"

"We all have our issues, man." Alec reaches out and Eliot moves into the touch. "So you don't like bein' auctioned off like a chunk of meat." Alec squeezes his shoulder. "Just tell Nate. He'll understand."

Eliot closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Find Parker for me—I owe her an apology."

He stalks into Nate's office. He's never talked about it, but these people, his team—_family_. They should know what they have living with them, what they've invited into their lives.

o0o

Parker sneaks into Eliot's bedroom two nights after the job goes sideways.

"Hardison said you wanted to see me," she announces.

He sits up in the bed, naked beneath the covers. Hardison is curled up next to him, softly snoring.

Eliot nods. "I'm sorry for what I said," he tells her. "I had no right."

Parker shrugs. "It's been a lot of men," she says. "But Daddy was never one of 'em." She turns to go, then adds, "If you hurt him, I'll blow you up." His quiet chuckle follows her out.

o0o

Sophie finds Nate in the kitchen, staring at a glass full of whiskey. It's nearing midnight but he's still dressed, still wide awake.

"Nate," she asks. "What is it?"

"The target is his stepfather's sister," Nate says. "He doesn't think she recognized him; he's changed a lot in the twenty-five years since her brother beat him into a coma." Nate trails his finger along the rim of the glass. "He didn't tell us," Nate continues when Sophie can think of nothing to say, "He didn't tell us because he thought he'd lose our respect. Can't face an old woman, oh, Eliot Spencer must be _useless_. Let's toss him out."

Sophie catches his wrist when he lifts the glass. "Don't," she says softly.

He looks at her and lowers his arm. "There's something else. Something he couldn't bring himself to tell me."

Sophie nods. "I'll see if he'll tell me, Nate. Now, let's get you into bed, yeah?"

Nate follows her to bed.

o0o

They don't have sex, he and Sophie, though he knows she wants to. So does he. But he's still not ready. He hasn't slept with any woman since Maggie and tonight is not the night.

But she slips into bed with him, places her head on his chest, and whispers, "Sleep, darling."

He can't. Not with Eliot's words playing on repeat. Eliot had laid out the bare bones of the story, a stepfather who hated him, a stepaunt who knew, and a mother who turned a blind eye until—something.

Nate had suspicions that made him want to raise the dead and kill them again, but "Mom finally dealt with him," Eliot had said. "And after I woke up, healed up, I took care of myself."

He was so matter of fact, so _that's how it was, and I dealt with it, and I survived_, and then he said, "I can still do the job, Nate. You just needed to know, and now you do."

Nate nodded. "I have a new plan in mind," he said. "I'll tell everyone tomorrow."

Eliot's eyes flicked to the door.

"You can go now," Nate said.

At the door, Eliot had paused. "My name, back then," he muttered without turning. "I—it was—"

"You don't have to tell me, Eliot," Nate said quickly. "I trust you."

No one in their business, in hacking and grifting and hitting and thieving, knows Eliot Spencer's real name.

"My name was Spencer Adams," Eliot told Nate and left.

Eliot left something major out of his story, something worse than a coma. He gave Nate his real name. With his arms around Sophie, Nate thinks about what to do with the knowledge.

o0o

Alec wakes alone in bed. He stretches, yawns, and turns over to go back to sleep. He snuggles in close when Eliot returns, burrowing in as much as possible.

"You're like a cat or somethin'," Eliot grumbles, but he doesn't push Alec away.

"Remember how you asked if anyone ever hurt me?" Alec murmurs into Eliot's skin.

Eliot tenses. "Yeah."

His fingers find that same scar from before. It spreads from one side of Eliot to the other, cutting across his navel.

"Well, now I'm askin' you." He glances up to meet Eliot's eyes. "Before you became a retrieval specialist, anyone ever hurt you, Eliot?"

Eliot looks away. Alec moves his hands to cradle Eliot's face. "You don't have to tell me," he says. "But I'll listen if you ever wanna talk."

He skims his palms along Eliot's chest, feeling all the scars, the proof that, above all, Eliot survives. He follows his fingers with his lips and tongue.

He's wanted Eliot since the moment they met and he'll stay as long as Eliot lets him.

o0o

They finish the job and Eliot never comes face-to-face with his stepfather's sister. Sophie tells him she's there if he ever wants to talk, Nate sends him to some men that need to be beaten up, and Parker takes him on a small robbery.

Alec asks him to move into his room. Only Aimee had ever been so serious before, and Eliot says yes.

Every night they spend together, Alec traces his scars, asking for the stories. Eliot tells him because Alec knows what he is, what he's done, and so he has nothing to hide.

Finally, Alec's fingers find the worst, the oldest, the one scar for which Eliot has no answer. So he tells Alec, "I don't remember."

Alec accepts that and the night moves on.

o0o

Parker stalks Margot Hester for months. The old lady has little to take, but Parker wants to understand. Margot Hester did something or saw something years and years ago, something that still hurts Eliot.

"Hello," Parker says, dropping in the window.

Margot Hester shrieks and spins around, hands clutched to her chest. After gasping for a few moments, the woman says, "You were the nurse."

Parker nods. Margot Hester reaches for her phone but Parker gets there first. "I'm not here to hurt you," she promises. Then she pauses to think and adds, "Unless you deserve it."

Margot Hester blanches like that's no comfort. Parker supposes it isn't. "What do you want?" she demands, sinking down into the armchair.

"Do you remember your brother's stepson?" Parker asks.

The old lady flinches, eyes widening. "I had nothing to do with that!" she says. "That boy was a devilchild and Marcus needed to punish him."

Parker snarls, "What did Marcus do?"

Margot Hester doesn't want to tell her. After hearing it, Parker understands why.

o0o

"Sophie," Parker says, entering her room without knocking.

"Yes, Parker," Sophie replies, trying very hard not to sigh. She marks her page and closes the book. "What can I do for you?"

Parker throws herself onto the bed. "We're a family, right?"

Sophie blinks and straightens in her chair. "Of course we are, Parker. Why do you ask?"

Shrugging, Parker starts to bunch some of the comforter, smoothes it out, and bunches it again. "What does Eliot like?" she asks. "For a present?"

"Parker." Sophie uses her most commanding tone.

"I talked to that Hester woman," Parker says in a rush.

"You didn't." She groans, "_Parker_."

"I know where he got that scar," Parker confesses, one hand on her stomach.

"What scar?" Sophie knows he must have dozens, at the least, but she's never seen him unclothed.

"Do I tell him I know?" Parker ignores her, turned somewhere inside. "He'll be angry."

Sophie sighs.

o0o

Nate knocks on the door of Sophie's study, waiting until she says, "It's open," before entering. She has papers spread out on the table and half a dozen highlighters, each a different color.

"You know you're not a thief anymore, right?" he jokes.

She smiles. "Half the fun was planning, Nate." She sets aside the marker in her hand, looking up at him inquisitively.

He takes a deep breath. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

Sophie smiles again, wide and bright.

o0o

Alec and Eliot are the only ones who use the pool with any regularity, and they don't always wear swimtrunks. Alec never gets tired of watching Eliot cut through the water.

He still wants the story of Eliot's scar, the one that looks like it ripped him open. How he survived the wound, Alec doesn't know. It bothers him to even think about, but his mind keeps picking at it.

Eliot splashes him and Alec dives into the water.

o0o

Eliot teaches Alec self-defense, how to duck and dodge and run. He shows him the basics of knife fighting, how to use almost anything as a weapon. The rest of the team stop in for some tutoring, too. Since he's sure he won't always be there for their protection, he's glad.

_Those who live by the sword_, he knows. He has reasons now, people to come home to, Alec waiting.

He's a survivor, but one day, there'll be something he can't survive. So he needs to teach his family how to take care of themselves.

o0o

What Eliot didn't tell Nate:

He has no memory of the week leading up to his two-day coma. He knows his mother shot Marcus and then herself because the police told him so.

But the dull throb in his gut, which healed into a scar bisecting his belly-button—he has no idea how it got there.

Once he healed up enough to move without gasping, he left the hospital and vanished into the streets.

He was fifteen.

o0o

What Parker knows:

Eliot likes horses. She buys him two mustangs, a buckskin and a paint.

She never tells.


	8. fight or flight

**Title**: fight or flight

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: takes place during season one; mentions of torture

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PGish

**Wordcount**: 800ish

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: I think I wanna see Eliot in vengeance mode. - But who's going to be fatally stupid enough to wrong him? So here's my idea: one of the Leverage team gets wronged, by someone who thinks they're completely safe from retribution because they know the limitations of their victim's skill set. However, they are not aware that person is no longer solo but has a team with equally developed and varied skill sets. Enter Leverage-style vengeance, only this time, it's personal! / threaten and promise

* * *

Alec is not the fighter. He knows this. Sophie could kick his ass and look good doing it. Yeah, he's learned a few moves from Eliot, but it's just enough to get away. Alec is good at running like his life depends on it.

What he's _not_ good at is getting shot while running away.

He finally understands why Eliot hates guns so damn much.

o0o

Alec wakes up with dried blood on his face and his hands tied in front of him. His shoulder is also screaming at him. If he were Eliot, that wouldn't be a problem.

But he's not Eliot. He's the computer geek who's always safe, far away from the action, and the man sitting across from him is really fucking scary, with a bigass grin and a biggerass knife, and oh shit, he's going to die here and he _doesn't know why_.

"You will do what I say, Mr. Hardison," the man tells him.

"Okay, yeah, whatever you say," Alec babbles, and the man's grin grows wider.

o0o

He doesn't know how long of a time passes. The man gives him a computer and unties his hands(fuck, his shoulder hurts so damn much, but if he ignores it, it'll stop) and he makes magic happen, but he's not even really clear on why. It's all about money, but the details are need-to-know, and Alec really hopes he doesn't get told, because he doubts he's going to survive anyway, but knowing the secrets--yeah, they wouldn't be able to let him go then, whoever _they_ are.

_Eliot, please kick down the door and beat this fucker to death, please, Eliot, please,_ he thinks over and over.

His shoulder hurts. He remembers getting shot. Has any first-aid been done? Probably not. He's expendable, disposable, he's going to die here.

He hasn't even seen the finale of "Doctor Who".

o0o

"Thank you, Mr. Hardison," the nameless man with the bigass grin and biggerass knife says. "You've been of great assistance."

Alec decides not to mention the virus hidden deep in the files. This bastard'll get his money, and then bad things will happen.

Too bad Alec won't be around to see it, but he's really tired. And cold. Maybe he'll wake up and be somewhere warm.

o0o

Alec wakes up to screaming. Someone is begging, and it doesn't sound like him. That's good.

He blinks his eyes open and the bigass-grin man is on the floor, with Eliot straddling him, that biggerass knife at his throat.

"Shut up," Eliot growls and the man shuts up. "You workin' alone?" Eliot asks, voice deadly soft.

The man whispers and it must be the wrong answer, because Eliot digs the knife into his skin.

"I asked," Eliot says mildly, "you workin' alone?"

This time, the man yells, "Yes!"

"Well, then," Eliot drawls. "No reason to keep you alive."

Alec closes his eyes just in time, but it sounds wet and painful. Maybe if he weren't so tired, he'd feel--something. As it is, he's just cold.

"C'mon, Hardison," Eliot says quietly, gentle hands lowering him out of the chair. "Hurry up, Nate," he says to someone else. "Get that doc up here. I don't know how to explain this to the authorities."

Alec blinks up at him. Eliot's covered in blood, hair a tangled mess. "How was 'Doctor Who'?" is what Alec means to ask, but it comes out as "How's doc'oo?"

Eliot smiles and says, "Haven't watched it yet. Been waitin' on your late ass."

Alec lets himself fall back asleep, knowing he's safe this time.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When Hardison is late, they don't think anything of it. When he doesn't answer the phone, they get annoyed.

When Eliot swings by his apartment and sees the mess, he realizes someone's taken Hardison and he feels faces breaking beneath his fists.

o0o

Hardison is the one who makes magic happen with his fingers, but Eliot is the tracker. He's followed marks from London to Moscow, from Dubai to Sydney.

The bastards didn't even take Hardison out of the city.

o0o

Nate is calling in favors left and right, Sophie is doing a fairly good approximation of Hardison's usual role, and Parker is collecting explosives and weapons from wherever she gets stuff.

Eliot is striding up the stairs to where the fuckers have Hardison and he doesn't plan on letting anyone survive.

o0o

Hardison is bleeding, barely conscious, and Eliot slams the fool who snatched him into the floor. He holds the bastard's own knife to his neck and he whimpers. "Shut up," Eliot snarls. It'd be so easy to let the knife slip, but then there'd be no answers. "You workin' alone?" he demands.

"No," the man gasps out. "We're an organi—"

Eliot reads the lie in his eyes. Lets the knife bite down and takes some satisfaction from his cry. "I asked, you workin' alone?"

"Yes!" he screams.

"Well then," Eliot says, "no reason to keep you alive."

It's too quick a death for what Hardison's suffered, but Eliot doesn't have the time it'd take for actual justice.

He goes to Hardison, gently touches his face. "C'mon, Hardison," he murmurs, then calls to Nate over the com, "Hurry up."

Eliot casts one glance to the corpse, mouth open in an unheard cry. First time in a long time he's enjoyed a kill. Turning his gaze back to his friend, he knows it wasn't enough.


	9. untitled

**Title**: untitled

**Fandom**: "Leverage"/"Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: takes place pre-pilot for both

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 105

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Dedication**: For redfirecracker to the prompt _Anything SPN, Dean-centric, or Leverage, Eliot would be terrific._

* * *

They met in Alabama after Eliot won a fight against a whole bar and Dean had five hundred dollars from cheating at pool in his pocket.

Eliot was hitching to anywhere but here and Dean was hightailing it out of town, and Dad had always told him to be careful of strangers, but the universe was finally seeing Dean's way(Sammy's gone, but not lost, he's safe in California, he's happy at college, and Dad'll call soon, he's fine, just not here) so he decided to stop and find out where Eliot was going.

They met in Alabama, and found someone not too different from themselves.


	10. freedom

**Title**: freedom

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 105

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot/Hardison, the merits of horses versus cars

* * *

Alec cannot take anymore of the sunshine glaring down at him and the branches that keep trying to smack him off the monster's back and just—is Eliot _grinning_?

"Dude, I miss air-conditioning!" he calls. "And the internet. I can get internet in a car. Hell, I can get internet on a sub at the bottom of the sea! But this monst—" The horse shies from something that ain't even there and Alec grabs onto the pommel, sending up a prayer.

Eliot laughs. "Yeah, horses don't get the internet." His beast prances over and he pats it on the neck. "But cars don't got souls."


	11. spittin' out blood

**Title**: spittin' out blood

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: takes place during season one finale

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 120

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: rattlesnake smile

* * *

Eliot does not give up. That's the secret to his success. If he falls, he's dead. If he stays on the ground, every bone in his body is broken and his heart has stopped beating.

He's learned to fight through broken bones, ripped skin, pulled muscles. He's learned to force the pain away, where it doesn't affect him, and take out anything in his way, anyone who has hurt him. Then, once he's the victor and safe, only then will he patch himself up.

And this kid, this punk who's faster than him but not as strong, he's a cocky little bastard.

Eliot smirks, blood on his teeth, and spits. Kid's good, but not that good. And Eliot strikes.


	12. one day, when dreams have come true

**Title**: one day, when dreams have come true

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: Eliot/Hardison

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 175

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot/Alec, dreams of the future

* * *

He imagines a time where Eliot has given up retrieving and settled down with a stable full of horses that he's trained himself. Alec, in this dream, is the CEO of a company that's actually a front, staffed by people they've helped save. And they keep helping people, but Eliot doesn't have to fight anymore.

Not that Alec doesn't like the fighting, because it's hot, but he just knows it'll get Eliot killed one day, and this is fantasy, so he can imagine whatever he wants. It doesn't have to be logical or even likely to happen. He just wishes it would.

Alec's kissed, licked, and nibbled at every scar Eliot has. He knows there'll be more. And he knows he'll never ask Eliot to give up his career, because Eliot thinks it's the one thing he's good at, and Alec has to convince him otherwise without saying anything outright.

He'll manage it one day, he knows that, too. He just hopes it's before the one job where Eliot finds a fight he can't win.


	13. worth the wait

**Title**: worth the wait

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: Eliot/Hardison

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 115

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot/Alec, three course meal

* * *

The appetizer is crab cakes, the entrée jambalaya (which Alec's never had before, but tastes what he imagines is pretty damned authentic, and man, Alec's been missing out by never spending much time in the south), and the first dessert is red velvet cake. With homemade cream-cheese icing, hotdamn. Alec's the luckiest guy on the planet, and he cleans his plate because the second dessert, well—

The second dessert isn't something you talk about in polite company, and Nana's always watching. Except, Alec hopes she's looking away now, because Eliot is smirking across the table, chugging down his lemonade, and Alec is damned tired of waiting.

But, yeah. The second dessert is totally worth the wait.


	14. what is real

**Title**: what is real

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: implied Parker/Hardison

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 110

**Point** **of** **view** third

**Prompt**: Parker, the first time she stole something because she wanted to (and not because she needed it)

* * *

The bunny wanted to come home with her. He stared at her with those cute black eyes, his paws all spread out. _Hug me_, he said. _Take me home. I'm yours_.

Mrs. Monroe's back was turned, looking at the other animals she wouldn't get because they weren't necessary, and Mr. Monroe was all about the necessary.

_Hug me_, the bunny said.

Her shirt was too big, and she wore a sweatshirt over it anyway. The bunny fit snug against her and she wrapped her arms around her middle.

(Much later, years and years, Hardison asks about the ragged bunny on her dresser. Parker smiles and says his name is Real.)


	15. just desserts

**Title**: just desserts

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 92

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot/Client's kid, Frosting and marshmallows

* * *

The kid—more like a toddler, Eliot's guessing—stayed behind his mom all the way to the conference table, then crawled up into her lap, fingers clenching in her shirt. He buried his face in her chest and just stayed there.

Nate and Sophie exchanged glances, Hardison typed notes on his laptop as the mom spoke, and Parker was fiddling with something on the table.

Eliot got up and headed for the kitchen. The kid clearly needed a treat, and marshmallows could make anyone happy. Especially with frosting to wash them down.


	16. depends on the grip

**Title**: depends on the grip

**Disclaimer**: Eliot's not mine

**Warnings**: pre-series

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Wordcount**: 120

**Prompt**: Eliot/author's choice, which came first - his skill in the kitchen or his skill with a knife?

* * *

He used to cook with his mother. At least, he's pretty sure he did. Those years are hazy, he was so young.

She'd whisper recipes to him, as they hid behind the couch together, while Dad rampaged around, yelling and cursing. Or maybe he made that up.

It was Aunt Lisa, Mom's sister, who told him that Mom used to throw knives. Aunt Lisa took him away from Dad not long after Mom died, and she didn't cook with him. Said that'd been her sister's thing, once she gave up knives.

Aunt Lisa flipped a thin blade in her hand the night she took him. "She'd want you to know how to defend yourself, kiddo," Aunt Lisa said.

Eliot nodded.


	17. the universal language

**Title**: the universal language

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Eliot or the nephew

**Warnings**: takes place before "Second David Job"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 260

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot, spending time with his nephew

* * *

Before heading back to LA for reconnaissance, Eliot swings by his sister's place. It's been over ten years since he went home and he knows it's long overdue. Emily's happy to see him, just like he figured she'd be—he's the prodigal brother. She has no idea who he is. What he is, what he's done, what'll he keep on doing until it kills him.

The husband is a good enough guy, with a quiet voice and gentle hands he will never raise to Emily in anger. That's all Eliot really cares about. Emily never got the brunt of Dad's rage and Mom's helplessness, and he never wants her to experience that, no matter what it'd take to make sure. If that meant a midnight visit with the husband and a deep grave far out in the middle of a pasture, so be it. Luckily for the husband, though, he seems the kinda man that'll never happen to.

The kid's bigger than Eliot thought he'd be. Already seven. Where do the years go? Just yesterday, Eliot got the phone-call. Now the kid is always asking questions, peppering Eliot for information. Where he goes, what he does, who he sees. Eliot has no idea what to answer. He looks to Emily for help, but she's grinning, snuggled up with the husband.

Finally, as the kid pauses for breath, Eliot asks, "Kid, you like horses?"

The kid nods, face lit up in excitement. Eliot smiles and looks to Emily for permission.

Her one instruction is, "Have him back for supper."


	18. fathers and sons

**Title**: fathers and sons

**Fandom**: Supernatural/Leverage

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: pre-series for both

**Pairings**: implied OMC/Eliot

**Rating**: PGish

**Wordcount**: 930

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: John, wee!Sam, wee!Dean, wee!Eliot, John comes across a young Eliot Spencer

* * *

They've just crossed the state line into Oregon and John's bone-deep exhausted. Sammy finally drifted off to sleep only half an hour ago and Dean's curled up next to him in the backseat, yawning so wide John's jaw hurts at the thought.

"Go to sleep, son," John tells him, yawning himself. "I'll wake you when we stop."

Dean shakes his head, determined to keep John company. He told John so way back in Reno, when they stopped to stock up on supplies. He's a big boy now, so he can stay up with John.

John shakes his head and sighs, focusing back on the road. Dean'll be asleep in ten minutes, tops, and if John's remembering right, there's a hotel about twenty miles on. He's getting so tired it's dangerous and they can head out again in the morning.

Well. He drains his can of soda and amends that to the afternoon.

o0o

Ten hours of interrupted sleep is a luxury of the past, but John wakes well into the afternoon.

"Dean?" he calls, instantly on alert. He sits up, scanning the room. Neither of the boys is accounted for and panic starts dully thumping in his gut.

It's only after he stands that he sees the note on the dresser: _gone swimin_ in Dean's just-learned scrawl.

Relief intermingles with anger that Dean left the room, taking Sammy with him, and didn't bother waking John to tell him.

Of course, Dean's a big boy now. He likes to take care of Sammy and John, nevermind that he's all of seven and still needs to be taken care of himself.

o0o

They are both at the pool, Sammy splashing on the stairs and Dean within reach of him, trying to see how long he can hold his breath.

"Dean!" John calls; they both look up. "It's time to go." Not only do they both lack swimming trunks—Dean's in one of John's shirts and his underwear, Sammy in Dean's shirt—but they're already running late.

"Yes'r," Dean says. He herds Sammy out of the pool. John picks Sammy up and heads back to the room, Dean at his side.

o0o

They get lunch in town, even though it's really more of a supper, the day's run so late. "Maybe we should stay the night again," he muses aloud, while Dean's finishing up his burger. Sammy's already made a mess of his mashed potatoes. "We'd just have to stop two towns over, anyway."

Dean blinks up at him. John nods. "Yeah, we'll get another room for the night," he says.

o0o

John actually gets up at a reasonable hour the next morning and straightens the room before rousing the boys. He settles Sammy into his seat with his favorite stuffed rabbit and makes sure Dean buckles up.

"We good to go, boys?" he asks.

Dean nods. Sammy makes his rabbit roar and laughs.

o0o

John first notices the kid outside a truckstop just north of Madras. He's about twelve, in clothes that are too big, with a split lip and two shiners. Then John's attention is caught by Sammy's temper-tantrum and the kid is forgotten.

But John sees him again at the Washington welcome center, slouching against the wall by the men's room, looking too old and infinitely young at the same time. John bundles his boys into the car, tells Dean to lock the doors, and heads back.

When he gets there, he sees the kid slipping into a truck with a roughneck. John glances around, but no one's watching, so he stalks to the driver's door and pulls the man out.

o0o

Dean is silent in the back with Sammy; the kid, who refuses to tell John his name, is steaming shotgun.

"I didn't ask for your help," is the only thing he's said so far that wasn't a muttered curse.

"Where you goin'?" John asks placidly.

The kid glares at him. "Olympia."

"Family?" John asks, refusing to get riled up.

"I got an aunt there. She'll—" The kid cuts off, turning his back to John so he can glare out the window.

"You know," John says, switching lanes to pass on Oldsmobile. "Kid, if you're gonna be on your own, you should learn how to fight."

He glances into the rearview, at Mary's boys. The thought of Dean out on his own, trying to do what this kid was—it makes his blood boil.

"Yeah," the kid mutters.

The ride is silent after that.

o0o

John leaves the boys in the car when he walks the kid to his aunt's door. The kid just huddles in his jacket, so John knocks.

An older woman answers and her mouth drops open. "Eliot Spencer!" she howls. "Your mother's been frantic lookin' for you, boy!"

The kid, Eliot, scoffs. "Pissed off I left is more like it," he says.

That just sends the woman into an even greater diatribe and John taps Eliot on the shoulder. "Be good, you hear?" he says. "And learn to fight."

Eliot nods. As John turns to go, he says, "Hey, uh, sir?" John looks back. Eliot ducks his head and murmurs, "Thanks. For, you know…"

John nods, now, and says, "Remember, Eliot. If you're gonna be takin' care of yourself, you need to know how to defend—and attack."

The woman pulls Eliot into the house, never even sparing John a glance, and he heads back to his car. He twists in his seat to look at the boys; Sammy's asleep, but Dean is watching him.

"Hey, Dean," he asks, "You ready to learn how to shoot a gun?"


	19. job description

**Title**: job description

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 66

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Nate/Eliot, Patching him up after a fight

* * *

"You know," he says calmly, pouring some alcohol onto a towel, "there's a reason I'm on the team."

"Yeah, well," Nate mutters, "you were down."

Eliot grits his teeth to keep his temper, hissing, "I was gettin' up." His anger doesn't translate to his hands as he gently dabs at the cut.

Nate doesn't apologize for jumping into things. Honestly, Eliot hadn't expected that he would.


	20. The Alphabet Game

**Title**: The Alphabet Game

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairing**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 70

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Team, Long car trip + I-Spy (or some other exceedingly annoying game, but not punch buggy, Eliot would win too easy)

* * *

"There are really words that start with X?" Parker asks.

"Yup," Hardison answers, eyes peeled.

"You can use a license plate, Parker," Nate tells her. "An X anywhere in the sequence counts."

"Ooh, there's one!" Sophie announces, sitting up straight.

"And there's Y!" Hardison cheers. "On to Z."

Eliot sighs, head in his hands, and wonders why he decided being part of a team was a good idea.


	21. damsel in distress

**Title**: damsel in distress

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 195

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot, deadly silence

* * *

Sophie would tell her captors what fools they are, but they gagged her as soon as they grabbed her. They have men posted at every door and window, but haven't even glanced at the skylight. They have security feeds, but she's noticed that the hallways haven't changed in five minutes. Her team is already here.

Whoever these fools are, they're living out their last minutes.

Eliot doesn't like to kill. Everyone who's anyone knows that.

But dislike is different from not doing it, and he's just as good at killing as he is everything else.

These fools have guns. And Sophie, bound and gagged and bleeding from the knock to the head.

Sophie knows he must've not always been so good. Back when he was younger, just starting out—he had to've made mistakes. Been caught. But he's clearly a quick study, so those were single mistakes, ones he did not repeat.

Maybe if she weren't gagged and her head wasn't aching, she'd speak up when Eliot rappels through the glass roof.

As it is, she just closes her eyes and leans back against the wall, waiting until he unties her and takes her home.


	22. sacrificial lion

**Title**: sacrificial lion

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: dark

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 235

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot/Nate or Hardison, Eliot's been caught and is being tortured but they never took out his com

* * *

Sophie's sobbing, Parker pacing, Nate holding his head in his hands, and Alec trying to trace the feed. Whoever it is, though, they're good. Really really good. Too good.

Alec throws his keyboard away and spins around, surging to his feet. Parker flinches back, but Sophie and Nate ignore him.

He doesn't know what to do.

Eliot hasn't screamed once, but his breaths are shallow and quick, and the questions keep coming, one after the other, sharp and cold.

Eliot hasn't said a thing.

Alec is helpless. He's not made for this, to sit and listen. He needs something to do. Something to hack. But whoever it is, whoever they are, they're better than him. And they have Eliot.

There's a single gunshot. He can't hear Eliot breathing.

He collapses back into his seat and Parker sinks to the floor, arms wrapped around herself. Nate pulls Sophie to him and they just hold onto each other.

Alec stares at the screen, at the little dot that is Eliot, that he can't find.

It's moving. They're taking his body somewhere.

Everything in him narrows to knowing that he'll get vengeance. He'll destroy them. Just as soon as he finds them, and he shuts away the pain and anger and despair. Anywhere they'll take a body, it can't be shielded by computers.

He'll get them.

Eliot never screamed or begged. Alec refuses to do any less.


	23. hideaway

**Title**: hideaway

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 255

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot/Hardison, Eliot keeping Hardison quiet by holding his hand over Hardison's mouth (or vice versa)

* * *

Damnit it all to Hell, they've been made. Eliot spins in place, immediately finding and discarding every possible exit. Each is being covered, but though the mark knows someone is in the building, she doesn't know who. There's still time. Maybe.

Hardison is mumbling under his breath, trying to make magic happen, but Eliot only keeps part of his attention on him. When the first goon meets his eyes, Eliot smiles disarmingly. No danger here, no way. Just a guy waiting on an appointment.

When the goon's gaze flicks to Hardison, though, Eliot knows the game is really up.

Shit. The only door not blocked by security is card-locked, but Hardison rolls his eyes and hacks it somehow, still muttering. Eliot shoves him through into a corridor full of doors. Eliot gestures for silence and leads the way.

Hardison taps on his shoulder, holding up his laptop to show the building's schematics. Eliot nods, considering for a moment. He picks the third door on the left; it's an old security room, with only two ways out—the entrance and a hidden panel in the far wall, a holdover from the Underground Railroad.

Hardison opens his mouth, but Eliot grabs him, covering his lips with his palm. The goons stampede by, calling orders to each other. Amateurs. Anyone even a bit good could hear 'em coming from a mile away.

Once they're gone, Eliot releases him, gesturing for silence. Hardison nods, glaring. Eliot shrugs.

Not his fault the kid doesn't know how to keep quiet.


	24. don't bring me no flowers

**Title**: don't bring me no flowers, just a six-gun smokin'

**Fandom**: Leverage

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Big&Rich

**Warnings**: spoilers for series

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 245

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Eliot knows how to use a gun. He knows how to take them apart, clean them, put them back together. He knows how to aim, how to compensate for the recoil, how to change the trajectory as he pulls the trigger.

A gun is the first weapon he ever learned, before sticks or knives or even fists. And as good as he is with the rest… he's best with a gun.

Eliot doesn't like to take lives. He worries that he'll become too much like the man who taught him if he ever gets a taste for blood. Guns are impersonal. Easy. He hates them because they were his father's favorite weapon.

He got them out, him and Emily. Every Christmas, she sends a letter to the one PO Box she knows about. She writes to her brother, to a boy who died when he shot his father. But she doesn't know that.

Eliot knows how to kill with a bullet. He knows it very well and it is just too easy. Dad made sure he knew every kind; Dad liked guns because they kept his hands clean of blood.

Every drop of blood that didn't touch his skin stained his soul. Eliot looks his marks in the eye.

Eliot knows himself. He hasn't shot anyone in almost twenty years but he can still remember how it felt, to take a life so cleanly.

He shoots to kill. It's why he'll never use a gun again.


	25. put me eight feet down when you bury me

**Title**: put me eight feet down when you bury me

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 195

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot/anyone, "I don't like guns."

* * *

He really had believed he'd never have to use a gun again. Maybe it was naive or foolish or optimistic, but twenty-two years without needing one, without picking them up except to take them apart...

And it comes down to this, a discarded gun the only option when a muzzle is pressed to Hardison's head.

Hardison's eyes are closed and blood drips down his face. His lips move, voice a barely there mumble of a prayer.

"Stand down," the fucker says. "Or I shoot."

"I really don't like guns," Eliot replies. He lunges, grabs the gun, rolls, and fires, the fucker going down with the back of his head gone.

"Doesn't mean I can't use 'em," Eliot finishes, hurrying to Hardison as he collapses. "Hey, hey," he murmurs. "You're alright."

"Eliot!" Nate yells threw the com. "Eliot, what's happening?"

Twenty-two years without using a gun and it felt just as easy as last time. He shudders, propping Hardison up, and thinks about praying for absolution.

He knows better, though. There'll be no forgiveness for him; he's a lost cause. He'll never be able to balance the scales.

Doesn't matter. Hardison's blinking up at him alive.


	26. daddy never hit him

**Title**: daddy never hit him

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 195

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot's past is not what you think it is

* * *

His daddy never hit him. Mama's still alive and kickin' it up in Florida. He sends her a postcard now and then, just to let her know he's still breathing. He's got two brothers and a sister. He makes more money than all of them combined and he sends it home; Mama makes sure to spread the wealth.

His daddy never hit him. He knows what Nate thinks, what they all think.

After all, why would someone learn to defend themselves so damned well if they didn't need to defend themselves from something?

But his daddy never hit him. He actually grew up fairly well-off, and attended a good school, and played fucking football and baseball and volunteered at a stable on the weekends whenever he had the time.

And, except for the stable, he was _so fucking bored_ he sometimes thought about breaking heads just to liven things up a bit.

His daddy never hit him. His daddy actually died in a carwreck when he was eighteen and he used the chaos after that to split.

He sends postcards and money and never even thinks about going home.

He doesn't belong there. Never has.


	27. put out to pasture

**Title**: put out to pasture

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 280

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot/anyone, a ranch of his own and someone to share it with

* * *

He gets out after—well, he gets out. Goes back to Oklahoma and works anywhere they need a handyman or a touch with horses, anywhere he doesn't have to talk much.

He doesn't look over his shoulder. Doesn't care if an old enemy tracks him down. Doesn't care if they try to break him before killing him. He doesn't care about much anymore.

But no one comes for him.

He saves up his paychecks to buy a parcel of land, even though he could buy the state for how much is hidden away in a bank-account with a fake name. He won't go near that money, though. Not even if he were starving.

There's blood on that money, and guilt. So much regret he can't breathe sometimes.

He flinches around laughing blondes. Around motherly brunettes with bright smiles. Can't stand fireworks or skyscrapers.

It takes ten years of living hand-to-mouth before he buys that parcel of land. Four horses. He never expected to live so long, and sometimes wishes he had the courage to kill himself. But Grandma had told him that suicides don't get to Heaven, and he knows that's where they are.

He wants to see them again. To apologize for being too slow. Too weak. He was unconscious while they died, and there's no excuse for that. He wasn't good enough and—

It should have been him. That's why he was on the team. To take the punches and the gunshots and the killing blows. It should have been him, but it wasn't and he's got to live with that.

So he does. With his stamp-sized piece of ground and his four rescued horses, he lives with that.


	28. prostration

**Title**: prostration

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: mention of suicide

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 115

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Nate, temptation

* * *

Sometimes, he wants to walk into traffic. Or off a building. There's ways to get a gun, or there's always a kitchen knife handy. It'd be so easy.

Maggie's gone. Sam. He didn't try hard enough--he knows how to twist the system, but he just stood there, gasping and sobbing, while his baby boy died from something that shouldn't have been fatal.

He _knows_ the system. He should have been able to work it, but instead he watched.

His life is over. And he wants it to end.

But he's not good enough to join Sammy yet. So even though he's tempted, he'll wait until he's been punished fully, no matter how long it takes.


	29. the final bow

**Title**: the final bow

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU at beginning of season 2

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 205

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: team, only four members of the team were at Sophie's play

* * *

She doesn't look into the audience until after the end, just in case they aren't there. She'd sent the tickets out, hoping, but just in case, she can't know until the end.

A quick glance shows Nate and Hardison. Another reveals Parker higher up, trying to blend into the wall. Eliot isn't there.

She takes a second bow and leaves the stage.

o0o

By the time she gets to the lobby, the team has met up and they're speaking uncomfortably. It sends an ache through her; she did this. She pushed for that job against Nate's old company. If she hadn't, they'd still all be together.

Nate turns to face her, in the middle of Hardison's babble. "Sophie," he says. "You were wonderful."

She stares up at him. "What's wrong?" she asks. It's obvious something is.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he looks at her again, she can tell he's been crying.

"I need to speak to all of you," he says quietly.

Parker and Hardison share a glance. "Why isn't Eliot here?" Parker asks. "Didn't we all get tickets?"

Sophie places a hand to her mouth. By the expression on Nate's face...

"That's what we need to talk about," Nate says.


	30. seek and ye shall find

**Title**: seek and ye shall find

**Fandom**: Leverage/Supernatural

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; one line paraphrased from Milton

**Warnings**: spoilers for Supernatural season 5; AU

**Pairings**: a smidge of Michael/Lucifer, implied Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 1710

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

They send Azrael to fetch him because he will not listen to anyone else.

"Brother," Azrael says. "It is time to come home. Your vessel is ready to be claimed."

The being that calls himself Eliot Spencer turns to the Angel of Death and replies, "I'm busy; already got some plans. Come back later."

That is the first attempt, but nowhere near the last.

o0o

Zachariah is swiftly losing patience and demands Raphael's help.

"The tactics that work on our lesser brothers will not work on the greatest of us," Raphael intones, like Zachariah didn't already know that. "Leave me be," Raphael adds, closing his eyes to return to his meditation.

Zachariah finds Gabriel on the far side of the sky and asks, "Can't you go talk to him? We need him for our victory!"

Gabriel smiles gently. "Our elder brother has made his decision. Only Father could change his mind."

"But God is not here!" Zachariah thunders. "He's abandoned us."

His smile sad now, Gabriel looks back towards the Earth. "Our brother has found peace. I'll not disturb him."

Biting his tongue, Zachariah leaves him and goes to Azrael again.

o0o

"Brother," Azrael whispers. "We need you to win. Please come home."

Eliot Spencer brushes hair off his face and spits blood onto the floor. "That all you got?" he taunts the five humans before him.

They charge; he smirks, wading in to break bones.

o0o

Eight more times Azrael tries and is rebuffed. Finally, he refuses Zachariah's increasingly hostile demands.

"Leave me be," he tells Zachariah, settling next to Gabriel. "Our brother has chosen his path and will not be swayed."

Zachariah grits his teeth and tries to think of another way.

o0o

"Call Castiel," Zachariah commands, appearing in Dean's monster of a car.

The car swerves as Dean shouts, "Whoa! How the fuck did you find us?"

Zachariah glares from the backseat, angered that he has been reduced to this—seeking aid from the perpetually infuriating Winchester brothers.

"Call Castiel," he repeats, not wanting to admit he actually had to watch human traffic cameras to locate them.

"Why?" Sam inquires, twisting to glance back, and Zachariah really doesn't want to talk to Lucifer's vessel but alienating either of them is unwise at this point.

"Heaven requires he visit someone," Zachariah claims.

"Heaven," Dean scoffs. "Meanin' you, right, Zach?"

"You can't find him yourself?" Sam smirks at him, not at all the once awe-filled man who excitedly offered his hand to Castiel.

"No," Zachariah mutters.

"Too damn bad," Dean says. "Get the fuck out of my car."

"If you don't summon Castiel," Zachariah tells him, "I'll follow you and snatch him the next time he appears. You will truly never see him again."

The Winchesters share a glance, and for all his power, Zachariah cannot glean what passes between them.

"Okay," Dean says. "But under our rules."

"Fine," Zachariah agrees shortly and the rest of the ride is silent.

o0o

Zachariah is told to sit down and shut up while Dean makes the call. He uses a cellphone and Zachariah raises a brow, but keeps quiet off Dean's look.

"Hey," Dean says into the phone. "We got your old boss here and he wants to talk with you." Dean nods. "Yeah, Indiana, where we agreed. Okay."

Castiel appears in the room, glaring at Zachariah. They haven't spoken since Castiel told him to leave, since Castiel chose Dean Winchester over his siblings, since _something_ returned Castiel to life without Zachariah's permission.

"Why are you here?" Castiel demands; his absence from Heaven has not diminished him. If anything, he seems more powerful, far more emotional, and somewhat angry.

"Heaven requires your aid, Castiel," Zachariah says regally. "My greatest brother has lost his way and must be convinced to return."

Castiel stares at him. "Michael is not in Heaven?" he whispers. "He is not party to your plan?" His gaze goes to Dean, then back to Zachariah. "You want me to convince him to follow you?"

Zachariah says, "Your paltry rebellion will be overlooked, should you succeed."

An expression unrecognizable to Zachariah covers Castiel's vessel's face for a moment. "Tell me where he is," Castiel murmurs, face and voice solemn again. "I shall speak with the greatest of us."

o0o

"Brother," Castiel says quietly, glancing around the tidy kitchen. "You have ignored Azrael's pleas. Gabriel and Raphael sit unmoving in Heaven. Lucifer walks the world again. Will you do nothing?"

Eliot turns, nods toward a bowl of chopped vegetables. "Hand me that," he orders, "and we'll talk."

o0o

"So, you're that one's lackey now," Eliot comments, passing over the bread-plate. "Never thought I'd see the day."

Castiel smiles at him. "I am not here for Zachariah. I don't want you to take Dean Winchester, but that is not the only way open to you."

Eliot smirks, stabbing a carrot with his fork. "You've discovered the good parts of humanity, then. They're fascinatin', ain't they?"

Nodding, Castiel selects a roll. "How long have you been here?"

"Thirty-five years." Eliot shovels a forkful of steak in his mouth, chews, and swallows before saying, "I didn't Fall. I got curious, so I formed a body and chose a place. A nice couple took me in, raised me as their own." He stares at his glass of water. "I never forgot who I am," he admits quietly. "I consciously chose to shove all my eons deep inside me, to live and grow as a man. But I never forgot and I never Fell."

Castiel continues calmly eating, allowing Eliot the time to gather his thoughts.

"I have only ever been a weapon," Eliot murmurs. "God's Sword, his thundering fist. Even in this form, I am a weapon, unstoppable and fierce."

They eat silently and gather the dishes, clear the table, go to the den. Eliot nods to Castiel for him to choose a seat.

Finally, Castiel asks, "Do you know where Yahweh has gone?"

Eliot's smile is kind. "Yes," he says. "And if you don't know, then I can't tell you, kid."

"So he's not dead?" Castiel latches onto the present tense of Eliot's words. "Raphael told me he's dead."

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Raphael always was a pissy bastard." He stretches. "If God had died, don't you think Azrael might've noticed?"

Castiel nods, considering. "Yes, of course."

Again, quiet falls. Eliot studies him for a moment, and Castiel waits. "I don't sense the soul of that vessel, brother."

"No." Castiel shake his head. "Raphael destroyed me, and Jimmy Novak with me. I am alone in here now."

"I can make that form yours, then, if you feel attached to it," Eliot offers. "Like this body is mine."

"You returned Anachel's human body," Castiel realizes and Eliot smiles. Castiel nods—he has wondered, watching the Winchesters, what truly having a physical body on Earth would be like.

"C'mere," Eliot commands. They meet in the middle of the room and Eliot places both his hands on Castiel, one palm to his forehead and the other beneath his shirt, over where his heart would beat, were the body still alive. "Breathe with me," Eliot murmurs. "Restart your system—breathe with me."

Slowly, Castiel feels himself anchoring inside the human machine, the veins and muscle and skin. He has physical sensation unhindered by not belonging.

"Welcome to actually bein' alive," Eliot says.

Castiel breathes.

o0o

When Michael returns to Heaven, Zachariah meets him.

"Brother!" Zachariah exclaims. "Finally."

Michael is as glorious as the day he left, the greatest of them all, and he stares at Zachariah with dangerous eyes. "I am not here to stay," he says, the words reverberating. "I have come to tell you that I will not wear Dean Winchester as a vessel to fight Satan."

Zachariah's mouth drops open and he splutters, "_What_?"

Michael looks past him, to the magnificence of Heaven, and he sneers. "The Dinarics are prettier," he mutters, focusing back on Zachariah. "Should I involve myself in this mess of your making," he proclaims, words traveling to every angel, fallen and not, "it will not be for you."

Michael looks Zachariah right in the eyes. "Stop threatening Castiel's humans," he commands. "And leave him alone."

Thunder rumbles across Heaven and Michael is gone. Zachariah feels his grand plan dribbling through his fingers and cannot comprehend what's gone wrong.

o0o

Standing on a mountaintop, Michael tells Lucifer, "Don't you think this childish rebellion has gone on long enough?"

Lucifer smirks. "That was a pretty speech you gave, brother."

"Sammael." Michael looks him in the eyes. "I do not want to battle you. I never did."

"Michael," Lucifer murmurs gently, slowly raising a hand, holding it steady between them. "Michael, my dearest brother."

Just as slowly, steadily gazing back at him, Michael clasps his fingers around Lucifer's.

"For you," Lucifer vows, "the only one who calls me by my true name—for you, Michael, I will delay the final battle. Until your human life is lived out, this world will not end."

"Thank you," Michael whispers.

When Lucifer pulls him close, he clings just as tightly and kisses just as fiercely.

o0o

Eliot Spencer returns to his apartment after two days away and no one blinks. His team knows he goes on sabbaticals from time to time. They have a new job and he throws himself into it.

The Winchesters keep fighting the good fight and trying to atone for their weaknesses. Castiel searches for God with renewed vigor.

Michael wonders how anyone cane be so blind. God is right in front of their eyes and even Sammael does not see Him.

Lucifer still raises a little Hell, but that is to be expected. Michael resolves to live a long time as Eliot Spencer and decides that he'll protect any family the team has in the horrors that follow his death.

o0o

"When will you let him know?" Eliot asks God in a dream.

Hazel eyes gleam and full lips smirk. "You think it's time yet?"

Eliot shrugs. "I can't hope to fathom the mind of God."

God laughs. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he assures Eliot. "It'll be awhile yet. Live out your life, love your friends, and tend your garden."

Eliot nods. He wakes laughing because Castiel never wondered why that small yellow charm felt warm against his skin until he left Dean Winchester's presence.


	31. exaction

**Title**: exaction

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: allusions to violence and child abuse

**Pairings**: Eliot/Hardison

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 135

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Alec/Eliot, don't ask

* * *

Eliot's body is covered in scars. Alec likes to take his time, whenever they (far too infrequently) have a chance, likes to lick and kiss his way along each, trying to erase whatever horror caused them with a better memory.

Eliot tells him where they came from, if he asks. Quietly, calmly, without emotion, he details exactly what he suffered. What he survived.

Alec has far fewer scars. Eliot's asked, looking to see if he needed to hunt someone down. Alec assured him that there was no point.

There's one, though, that made Alec flinch when Eliot's finger traced it. Eliot moved on, with barely a glance to show he'd noticed and filed away Alec's reaction.

Eliot never asks.

A month later, Alec finds an obituary taped on his laptop.

Alec never thanks him.


	32. ghosts

**Title**: ghosts

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**:

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: team, enemies from the past

* * *

They all have people from the past after them, of course. People they've stolen from, or people they've put away, or people they've left barely alive in a pool of their own entrails.

And while Sophie and Parker's enemies are usually placated with a bundle of cash, and while Hardison's are searching for a ghost in a computer system, and while Nate's languish in prison, sending hitman after hitman who keep somehow mysteriously getting lost or dead, Eliot's—well, Eliot's are dangerous.

The Butcher of Kiev is easy compared to some others, and at night he dreams in shades red and black and blue. Sophie and Parker and Hardison, and even Nate, don't really understand. They're thieves and an ex-cop (basically), and honestly, they've never actually hurt anyone. Victimless crime, and now righteous crusade, and Eliot—he's the odd man out.

He has hurt people. He's killed people. He's stolen from one villain to give the loot over to another, and he's left behind wrathful crime lords in a dozen countries.

He wonders sometimes if Nate ever checked up on the Butcher, because he never said anything: the Butcher didn't leave that kitchen alive.

There have been a couple others who caught up with him, but luckily they all went after Eliot, not his team. Soon, though, he knows, someone will figure out his weakness. Soon they'll start targeting the team, and he knows he should leave, for their safety.

But he doesn't want to go. These people are home now.

He will leave, as soon as the bad guys figure it out. Not even he can shake the past for long.


	33. and that was his funeral

**Title**: and that was his funeral

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Whitman

**Warnings**: spoilers for 2.13

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 390

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

His name was Bobby Parker and he was six years old. Her name was Bethany Marshall and she was eight. Bobby had never been on a bike before, so Bethany taught him how to ride. She even borrowed their foster parents' actual kid's bike for the day.

Neither Bobby nor Bethany saw the car rocketing around the corner, and the driver didn't see them. He wasn't drunk or high or exhausted. He was just in a hurry.

Bobby died on impact and the driver stayed with Bethany until the paramedics arrived. She sobbed in his arms was moved to a new place before learning what happened to him. She never even knew his name.

After that, Bethany Marshall kept to herself and quit trying to be friends with people. When she finally took herself out of the system, she changed her name so that she wouldn't ever forget.

Hardison sometimes reminds her of Bobby Parker. He has the same joyful, carefree laugh. She wants to laugh along, and pull him close, and keep him from ever leaving.

So when the skeevy fake psychic tears open her wound for the whole world to see, Parker isn't ashamed of running away, or of her tears. But she is angry that she knows she'd kill him if he stood in front of her right now.

She wants to hug Hardison. More than that, she wants to cuddle Bobby, but he's been dead for twenty years. So she'll settle for destroying the fake's credibility and his career.

And after the case is over, after she and Hardison give the lady all that money, she goes back to that road and sits on the grass and remembers laughing with Bobby. Teaching him to ride a bike and pick a pocket. Sharing stolen cookies. Cuddling after lights out and whispering the lullabies she can barely recall her mother singing.

She isn't surprised when Hardison plops on one side of her and Eliot silently settles on the other.

"You okay?" Hardison asks softly.

Parker wipes her eyes. "Yeah," she says. "But I want to steal something."

Eliot says, "We can do that."

Bobby died on this road. Sometimes, when she thinks about it, Parker knows she was born here.

It wasn't a fair trade, but she'll make do, with these brothers who love her.


	34. pack mentality

**Title**: pack mentality

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for the season 2 finale

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 145

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

He stares at Nate, wondering what happened to the man who formed their team, who led them—the Nate they came back for, as Parker said. So little of that man remains, except this Nate is even worse off than the first one Eliot met.

Eliot will watch Nate's back, for now. He owes the man that much. But if Nate's actions or shortcomings threaten Parker and Hardison, Eliot will grab them and run. He'd die for Nate, but he won't let either of them. He'll stash them somewhere safe and come back, do his best to help Nate—whether Nate appreciates it or not, he is part of Eliot's family and Eliot protects what's his.

But Parker and Hardison come first, and looking Nate in the eye, Eliot knows he'll kill Nate if that's the only way to keep them safe.


	35. necessity

**Title**: necessity

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for the season 2 finale

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 75

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Hardison and Eliot and Sophie and Nate are her family, and Tara's fun and funny, but she's not family.

So when Hardison tells her that Tara's been meeting with the mark, Parker reacts with a swift fury to find out how big the threat is.

Hardison and Eliot and Nate are on that ship, and Parker's not with them. Parker can't help them.

So she'll take care of Tara and then go save her family.


	36. crazy

**Title**: crazy

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: mentions underage non-con

**Pairings**: het

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 240

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: any/Parker, "No. Not ever. NO!"

* * *

She did have a couple good foster families. Really. Sometimes, she remembers them and mourns what might have been, if she'd been better and nicer and not so crazy. But she's always been crazy. Ever since Mama left her and ran, barely able to toddle around and say her name—not her real name, though, because a real name is what you choose for yourself, not what someone gives you before they even know you, and no one knows what Mama called her, not anymore—anyway. She's always been crazy, and before Nate and Hardison and Eliot and Sophie no one wanted crazy.

Well. Someone did. But she doesn't like to think about him, because he didn't listen to her, even when she pled and sobbed and screamed. And then when she took a bunny for comfort, he took it away and smirked down at her, but she showed him, she did, she made him explode in pretty flames and shiny sparks, and no one touches her without her consent, not anymore.

Because she's crazy. Because no one can predict her or contain her. Because she chose her own name and does what she wants, and she has people on her side now, Nate and Hardison and Eliot and Sophie. And maybe they're not as crazy as her, but they let her be as crazy as she wants, and sometimes she thinks maybe she doesn't have to be crazy anymore.


	37. confidential knowledge

**Title**: confidential knowledge

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: takes place early on in the series

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 260

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot, Sophie's the grifter, but Eliot's mask has been in place so long sometimes he forgets he can take it off

* * *

What they know about Eliot boils down to this: he's dangerous, doesn't like guns, loves horses, and cooks like a highly trained chef.

He knows every method of fighting ever, even the ones no one uses anymore or haven't invented yet. He refuses to let people hear him sing, he's dated a girl in every city and profession, and he despises people who hurt little kids.

"C'mon, Eliot, tell me somethin'," Hardison whines, pouting. "Anythin'. What I know about you could—uh." He pauses to think of an adequate description, so Sophie chimes in, "A teacup, Eliot. What we know about you could scarcely fill a teacup."

Eliot rolls his eyes. "I first rode a horse when I was six."

He trusts these people, he really does. But he's not quite ready to reveal too much about himself, because that only leads to getting hurt.

So, yeah, he first rode a horse when he was six. His granddaddy swung up behind him and took him to his cabin, where he made sure Eliot knew how to defend himself against anyone. But every afternoon, no matter what, Grandpa put Eliot back on that horse and told him, "This doesn't have to be your life, Eliot. If you survive long enough, you can get out, make something of yourself. You hear me, boy?"

Horses are the freedom to run. That's why Eliot loves them.

"What else?" Hardison asks.

Eliot shrugs. "Not important."

Nate studies him a moment before turning to Hardison and asking, "So, which government agency did you hack into first?"


	38. final solution

**Title**: final solution

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 80

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Nate & Parker gen, Daddy's little psycho

* * *

Sometimes, when the mark isn't intimidated by Hardison's skill with computers and making money disappear, or doesn't fall for Sophie's charms, or refuses to be bought by Nate's offers, or doesn't flinch from Eliot's fists, Nate will shake his head and tut, then release Parker on the poor fool.

Whenever things have gotten that far, his one command is "Don't get caught, dear."

Eliot shadows her, to clean up the mess, and then takes her for ice cream on Nate's bill.


	39. mastery

**Title**: mastery

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none, really

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 405

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: cook

* * *

Mama had been a very good cook, and Dad praised her for it every meal. Eliot learned from her, growing to love it. She told him to take pleasure in weaving together a masterpiece, and if he found someone who appreciated his gift, to settle down with them forever.

Dad told Eliot to always thank people when they did something helpful or nice or awesome. Mama's family hadn't realized what a treasure they had, so Dad went out of his way to prove he did.

Eliot made a full-course meal for his parents on their twentieth anniversary. Mama cried and gave him a big hug, and Dad swept him up to press a kiss to his cheek.

Three days later, Mama and Dad were killed in a misplaced hit, Eliot's baby sister was taken into foster care, and Eliot almost died seeking vengeance.

Eliot swiftly learned better, and soon enough, he had a name in the dark underbelly of the world. As good as he got at it, though, he never loved hitting or retrieving as much as he did cooking with Mama.

The team will never replace his parents or baby sister—but he does love them. More than he ever expected, truth be told. He gives them parts of himself no one has had since Mama and Dad died and he cut off contact with Emily for her own safety. (She's married and has a son. She thinks Eliot got killed years ago.) Eliot would die for a handful of people in the world, and this team, these people who know the worst of him and accept him anyway made the list.

He hasn't cooked for anyone but himself since he was sixteen, but he cooks for Hardison and Parker and Sophie and Nate. What's more, they like his meals and don't skimp on the praise, so he enjoys preparing food for them. It's fun and easy and what he wishes he could do for the rest of his life. But he's too good at hitting and retrieving, and his past will always chase him, no matter how far or how fast he runs and how well he hides.

So he cooks for his team, takes care of them, watches their backs and lets them think they watch his. And he knows, so sure it's an ache in his soul, that one day he'll cook the wrong meal and they'll die, too.


	40. well then, game over

**Title**: well then, game over

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Richard Siken.

**Warnings**: spoilers for both seasons

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 445

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: perish

* * *

Whenever he imagined this moment, he thought it'd be… more. Just _more_. Spectacular or awesome, or something. Not like this.

He can hear them, Parker and Sophie and Eliot and Nate. Their first true job as a team again, after Nate got out and Sophie came back. Their family, whole again.

He coughs, spitting out blood. Not good. Not good at all, and "Y'alright?" Eliot asks through the com. Clearing the way home. Sophie's distracting the mar, Nate's securing another exit, and Parker's in the vault. He's their eye in the sky, their safety net.

"Fine," he says. "Just… keep doin' what you're doin'."

"Hardison?" Parker says. "You sound—"

"'m'fine," he interrupts her. "Just get out."

He's really cold now. They think he's in the van—no, no, they don't. He killed Lucille for Nate. He should make sure Nate knows he's not angry about that anymore, because he's not. Lucille stayed with him for years, ever since Nana gave her to him after graduation, but Lucille wasn't—she was a van. And he has the team now.

"Nate," he says, carefully enunciating so they don't realize how much trouble he's having with words. "Nate, I'd kill Lucille for you again, if I had to."

Nate doesn't respond because he's conning a guard, but Eliot says, "Hardison, what?!"

Hardison's not in their new van, the nameless and soulless hunk of metal that'll never replace Lucille. The van is in the right place for the team, but Hardison had to distract the bad guy's goons, and he's so cold. And his mouth keeps bleeding for some reason, but he can't find the wound with is tongue, and his whole body hurts, but only his mouth is bleeding, which makes no sense at all.

"Hardison!" Eliot shouts. "We're at the van—where the fuck're you?!"

"It's… it's been an honor…" he slurs, and even he can hear how little control he has over the words. "Y'all're the be-best team a thief… could ever work with."

"Find him!" he hears over the headset he took from good numero uno. "He has to be here somewhere!"

Smiling, knowing his family is searching around the van and'll be safe, he flips the switch and lights the villain's headquarters on fire.

He won't be cold for long, and maybe this death isn't how always imagined dying—but Parker and Eliot and Sophie and Nate are safe, and that's what's important.

"It's been an honor," he says again, unsure if they can even hear him. "I love all y'all. Take care'a each other, 'kay? I love y'all."

He takes out his com and notices he's not cold anymore.


	41. I pass like night, from land to land

**Title**: I pass like night, from land to land

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Coleridge.

**Warnings**: implied child abuse

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 155

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: weeeeeeee

* * *

Back before she was Parker, when she was a little wisp of a girl-child, easily broken, she used to hide on the roof. She was quick and graceful like a cat, and no one ever thought to look for her there. Sometimes, she'd spend days alone on top of the house, moving with the sun to keep warm or cool, depending on the time of year.

The roof never hurt her. Even when she jumped, she'd find something to land on or grab on the way down. Humans hurt her, not buildings. And the higher the buildings got, the more things she'd find to catch herself with.

Soon enough, she began making harnesses and carrying rope, and the buildings got taller and taller, and she could almost taste the clouds.

("Aren't you ever afraid?" Hardison asks her, when they dangle forty-five floors up.

"Not by buildings," she answers. Buildings have always been her friends.)


	42. not the time or place

**Title**: not the time or place

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for both series

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 85

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Leverage/White Collar, Neal/Nate, back corner booth

* * *

"What've you been up to?" Neal asks, sipping the wine.

Nate raises an eyebrow. "You think I didn't notice you checking up on me, kid?"

Neal shrugs. "It's called small-talk, Nathan. You used to be good at it."

"Well, it hasn't been quite as high-profile as joining the FBI," Nate says, "but I've been keepin' busy."

"Good," Neal says quietly. "You've always needed something to do."

Nate smiles. "Stay on the straight and narrow, Neal. I'd hate to have to break you out of jail."


	43. bottom of the ninth, bases loaded

**Title**: bottom of the ninth, bases loaded

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 150

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: teamfic!, Eliot always said he'd die fighting (he never told them it would be to save the rest of them).

* * *

Parker's down, bullet to the thigh. Hardison's with her, trying to keep her still and putting pressure on the wound. She'll live, if they can get her out of here.

Sophie's the hostage, one of Reynolds' goons holding a gun to her head and demanding some shit they can't deliver, trapped here at the bottom of a barrel.

Nate's trying to reason with the bastard, but Eliot knows they passed that point a bullet ago.

There's a gun in reach. Full clip; the fucker carrying it went down with a crushed laraynx. There's a gun in reach and goons with jumpy trigger-fingers, and Parker will bleed out if she stays here.

Nine goons, each with a gun. Reynolds crying in the corner, pissing and moaning about something or other, and Eliot can kill them all.

He moves, knowing how this will play out, but his team will live.


	44. everyone has a breaking point

**Title**: everyone has a breaking point

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**:160

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Hardison + team, they all get tortured but Hardison is the only one who breaks

* * *

It's not his fault, and they tell him that, but he doesn't listen because he doesn't want to hear, because he broke, he told, he gave in and gave up, didn't have faith, didn't believe in the team, didn't believe in _Eliot_, and that—that—

He doesn't go to the funerals. He's not worthy.

"Alec," Sophie says. "Sweetheart. Please—"

He turns away, closes his eyes, covers his ears. He hasn't even turned on the computer in the three days he's been here, or showered, or eaten a thing. He's cried more tears than he had water in his body, and he hopes he dies.

"If you die," the Parker in his mind whispers, "then our deaths are pointless. Hardison. Don't you wanna make those men pay?"

_Yes,_ he thinks.

"Sophie," he says, and his voice is so hoarse it hurts. "Sophie."

She cries, wrapping her arms around him, and he thinks, _They'll bleed and suffer and die._


	45. brothers and angels

**Title**: brothers and angels

**Fandom**: Leverage/Angel the Series

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for end of Angel the Series

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 160

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Leverage/AtS, Eliot & Angel, "You killed my brother, you son-of-a-bitch."

* * *

When he takes Angel down, the vampire doesn't see it coming. The holy water burns and the four stakes circle his heart, pinning him to the wall.

He looks up, gasping and moaning, to see—"Lindsey?"

"No," the man says, and that's right: he doesn't smell like Lindsey. Well, he does, but not exactly. He holds another stake, with three more strapped to his waist. Almost too quick for Angel to see, two stakes pierce both his palms, and he screams.

"You killed my brother," Lindsey's twin says. "You'll pay for that."

Angel survived Wolfram and Hart's final charge, but this... "I didn't know Lindsey had a brother," Angel mutters, trying to formulate a plan, but another stake is driven into him, through his gut, and all reason flees.

"He still does," Lindsey's brother says, and Lindsey flickers into being next to him, gone after a moment.

Angel closes his eyes and Lindsey's brother pours holy water down his throat.


	46. the little shadow

**Title**: the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Crowfoot.

**Warnings**: character death

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 150

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: illumination

* * *

She waits in the dark apartment, curled up on his bean bag. His orange drink tastes purple and the chips are stale. The computer keeps beeping and blinking, like it's trying to tell her something, but she doesn't know the language.

Eliot opens the door, silently walking in. He reaches for the light-switch, but pauses. "Parker," he says. "It's time."

She shakes her head. It's not time. It'll never be time until Hardison is back to translate what the computer's saying.

Sophie steps around Eliot and she does hit the light. Nate stays in the hall, a glass of alcohol in his hand. "Please, Parker," Sophie murmurs. "For me."

Parker closes her eyes and hums the theme from _Star Wars_, putting her fingers in her ears.

She's not going anywhere until Hardison comes home.

Eliot turns off the light when they leave, and Parker doesn't wipe away her tears.


	47. Make a list of what's lost

**Title**: Make a list of what's lost

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Adrienne Rich.

**Warnings**: character death

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 160

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: vitamin

* * *

_You know_, he can almost hear her say, _the sun gives people vitamins_. _I don't know which one, but it's not K. Is it? I'm pretty sure we get K from bananas. I like bananas. They're best with chocolate pudding, though. Or peanut butter. Ooh, what about with both? Yeah, definitely best with both. While in sunlight. You get K either way, then, right? I love the sun. It's so shiny and warm._

Her hair looked like sunlight. And she was so much fun. He could barely keep up with her, and he loved her so much, and she's gone now. She's gone.

"C'mon," he hears Eliot mutter. "Time to make those fuckers pay."

He wasn't the only one who loved her, and he's not the only one who misses her.

Alec ruined their lives without ever seeing their eyes. But Eliot will take their lives and watch their eyes die, and Alec knows it won't be enough, but it'll have to do.


	48. earning trust

**Title**: earning trust

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: early in the series

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 130

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: pharmacy

* * *

Eliot doesn't really believe in painkillers. Pain hurts but it keeps him sharp, keeps him watchful and wary. For so long he's been alone, no one he could trust at his back. When he's injured, he gets mean and goes to ground.

But these people, this team, they follow him. Try to help. Sophie gets him a heating blanket, Parker steals a dozen pillows, Nate finds some soup to heat, and Hardison arrives with five kinds of painkiller.

And none of them listen when he says he's fine and to fuck off. So he accepts the blanket, lets Parker settle some pillows around him, sips a few spoonfuls of soup, and takes a couple advil.

He can trust them, he thinks. So he closes his eyes and slips into sleep.


	49. with a whimper

**Title**: with a whimper

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: character death

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 115

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Any, Any, For all (his/her) strength, (he/she) didn't go out fighting

* * *

It isn't a fight that kills him. He's not in the middle of a whirlwind of violence, kicking ass and saving his team. It's not a battle or a con or anything but his past finally catching up with a vengeance, a ten-year-old bounty rearing its head.

Hardison is mid-rant about Eliot's lack of computer skills. Sophie is laughing at Nate's eyeroll. Parker is eying a nearby businessman's wallet.

Eliot's guard is down. They haven't worked a job in almost two weeks. No one knows they're in this town, using these names. It's a vacation.

He doesn't hear or feel the shot. Direct to the heart, dead before he hits the ground.

He's always hated guns.


	50. Nate's pride

**Title**: Nate's pride

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: helps if you know something about cats

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 310

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot +Team, Client POV

* * *

Daddy used to keep cats. She remembers that much from when she was a little girl. He lost the sanctuary a long time ago and that's not why she's here now, but these people... they remind her so much of those days.

Mr. Ford is a lion, the one who keeps the territory and fights off interlopers. He does some work, it seems, but not the most. He plans, but he doesn't really fight.

_Call me Sophie, dear_ is a panther, sleek and quick, sharp and soft. She'll lurk in the shadows except when stepping into the sun would be better, and she'll draw all eyes, keep people distracted while the others lunge in with the killing bite.

Hardison and Parker, they're something small and fast. Maybe a serval and an ocelot. Not as dangerous, but just as invisible. And can still do so much damage... but those four, as dangerous as they are...

Eliot is something more. She saw it from the first moment Sophie sat her down with this team, Mr. Ford's pride. Daddy had one tiger, that he'd rescued from some idiot who didn't realize how _big_ Siberians get. She's always liked tigers, and she used to watch him close every chance she got. Eliot's movements are as fluid as that tiger. He's attuned to everyone in the room like that tiger knew everything about his environment.

Eliot could kill everyone present just as easily as that tiger could've, just as fast. And that...

But she's come to these people for help. To save Maura and Colette's legacy. And as dangerous as they are... they'll be on her side.

A lion and a panther and a serval and an ocelot and a goddamned tiger.

She'll have to go to confession later, but Maura and Colette need her, and Mr. Ford's pride is their last hope.


	51. dragon's fire

**Title**: dragon's fire

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: somewhat depressing

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 310

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Team, Maggie's POV

* * *

This Nate isn't the one she fell in love, when they were young and invincible and going to live happily ever after. This Nate isn't the one who left after they fell apart, after Sammy and things going so very wrong. This Nate isn't the one that Jim would ramble about after a little too much whiskey.

This Nate is a criminal mastermind and no longer in love with her, and he's got a team that she works entirely too well with. Sophie is as smooth and silky as she used to wish she was, when she was younger and imagining taking the world by storm. Parker is so very broken, but so dangerous—maybe even more dangerous because of it. Whoever did that to the girl, she wants to make them hurt. Hardison can still get out of this web Nate's weaving and make something of himself, but he's caught up in the adrenaline, the rush, the crazy thrill of _winning_ time after time after time. But all it takes is one instance of losing and everything falls apart, and he's just a boy, a _baby_. He's younger than she was, when she married Nate. Tara isn't as smooth or silky as Sophie, but she fits in a way Maggie doesn't anymore, so much more comfortable in the shadow-world of barely legal. And Eliot... he's as broken as Parker, as caught as Hardison, and a dozen times more dangerous than the rest of them combined. He's the one who won't survive when things go wrong because he'll die insuring that everyone else gets out.

There's nothing she can do. They're all adults, and this Nate isn't one she knows anymore. Maybe she should call Jim over and share the whiskey, because she isn't young and none of them are invincible, and this isn't going to end with happily ever after.


	52. guardian demon

**Title**: guardian demon

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: depressing

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 175

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot/any or Eliot + team, he was sure that someday they were going to realize what a monster he was an abandon him

* * *

He's a killer. That's what retrieval specialist really means. He's a goddamned killer-for-hire who's wanted in a dozen countries and a person-of-interest in a dozen more. He's dangerous with too much blood on his hands to ever wash off, and they'll realize it one day, this team that's become family, they'll figure out what he is, what he's done, and they'll-

They'll turn away. They'll turn him out. They'll wash their hands of him and be done.

And he knows he'll go. Because they deserve better than him, Hardison and Parker and Sophie. Even Nate, really, no matter what Nate's become these days.

When they finally decide to get rid of him, he'll go. But he won't go far because, no matter what else he is, he's the best at what he does, and even though as a person he's not good enough for them, he'll stay close enough to keep them safe.

He just won't let them see him do it.

(And yeah, he knows exactly how it'll end. He wouldn't have it any other way.)


	53. beggars would ride

**Title**: beggars would ride

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Pairings**: none

**Wordcount**: 125

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot and Parker, teaching her to ride a horse

* * *

"Trust me," he says, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder, the other patting the giant horse's.

She does, really she does, and that's so weird. So she stands next to him, eyes on the horse, and listens to his instructions.

"Now," he says, after she's _on_ the giant horse, "just feel him, Parker. You jump off buildings for fun. This is much easier."

Says him, she thinks, but she trusts him.

The horse just follows him quietly, ears flicking around, and Parker holds on tight. And, really... it's not so bad. She doesn't see what the big deal is, why he enjoys this so much, but she's been through worse things. And the horse is kinda pretty.

He grins at her, and she smiles back.


	54. curtain call

**Title**: curtain call

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: speculation of character death

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 230

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot + team, one of these days, they were going to lose Eliot and never see it coming

* * *

They all try not to think about it. You know. That final job. The curtain call. The one twist to the con that Nate can't plan for and-

Yeah. It's always in the back of their minds, _is this it? is there where I fall, fail, let them all down? is this that day?_

But even more than Sophie wondering if the mark is buying it, or Parker thinking maybe that rope is a little frayed, or Hardison worrying about whether or not the coding will hold up, or Nate trying to see a dozen steps ahead, Eliot thinks, _this could be it, today, now, this could be it for me, and who'll protect them then?_

And all of them, Sophie and Parker and Hardison and Nate, they all think that, too. Because he bleeds and he bruises and he breaks, for them, so they won't, and there's only so much a body can take.

It could be any day, any fight—he'll go down and not get up, he knows it, they all know it. And while they try to avoid wondering, he enters every fight like it'll be the last because he always fights harder if he thinks he'll never see them again.

Because if he's gone, then they might bleed and bruise (and he doesn't think they'll break, but they know better) and he's here so they never will.


	55. his kind

**Title**: his kind

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: Eliot/Hardison/Parker

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 165

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot/any, sometimes old warriors _do_ get to retire

* * *

His kind don't get happily ever after or peace or somewhere safe to call home.

And yet.

His kind always have to fight and bleed and bruise and break, themselves or someone else, and he knew that, going in. He knew, eyes wide open, and walked into Hell.

And yet.

His kind are dangerous and deadly, and should be put down the moment they step out of line.

And yet.

"C'mon, man, Parker's gettin' antsy!" Alec calls from the den, where he and Parker are cuddled on the couch. "We _will_ leave without you, if you ain't ready in two minutes!"

Eliot glances in the mirror as he passes it. He's gotten old. They all have. Parker hardly ever jumps off buildings anymore, Alec keeps muttering about the young kids and their newfangled tricks, and Eliot...

He's retired. He has a restaurant now, and no one's tried to kill him in almost three years.

His kind don't get to be happy, and yet...

He is.


	56. cry, little sister

**Title**: cry, little sister

**Fandom**: Leverage/White Collar

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: implied child abuse

**Pairings**: implied Peter/Neal

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 340

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Peter Burke & Parker, "It's okay, Parker. I know who you are, and I'm here to rescue you."

* * *

It was a job gone horribly, terribly wrong, and of course, Parker was there, that little girl from the last home he ever let the system put him in, the one he almost couldn't save.

He saw the earpiece get smashed, the last act she had strength for, and he kept up a steady stream of bullshit, throwing in the code for _now, Peter, come in now, I'm completely fucked, there's an innocent bystander bleeding out, Peter now Peter now now now_ in a dozen different ways.

He slid across the floor to try and help her, put pressure on the wound, keep her from bleeding out. "Hey, Parker," he murmured, ignoring the gunmen, their target's hired goons. If he had a gun of his own… but he didn't, he hated guns, he's just really good with them.

"Noah?" she gasped, eyes blinking at him before sliding away.

"Yeah," he whispered. There was so much blood…

He almost sobbed in relief when Peter yelled, "FBI! Freeze!"

And then Peter was beside him, voice gentle and hands firm, as he put pressure on Parker's wound, and he said, "Hello, Parker. I've heard a lot about you."

"Nate?" she asked, voice weaker than the last time she spoke.

"No," Peter answered as Neal demanded an ambulance from the phone he just picked out of Peter's pocket. "I'm Peter Burke. Don't worry, Parker, you'll be just fine. And we won't even book you this time, since you helped us."

"I-I did?" Her eyelashes kept fluttering shut and Neal grabbed her hand, staring at Peter, begging him to do something, anything, because—_Parker_.

"Yes, Parker," Peter said, eyes flicking to Neal before focused back on her. "You saved Neal's life. And we're going to save yours."

(Later, after she'd been stabilized and Neal could breathe again, he didn't mention the four people he knew didn't work for the hospital who kept visiting her. He suspected Peter knew that, too. And when she vanished as soon as was safe, Peter didn't look too hard.)


	57. in the blood

**Title**: in the blood

**Disclaimer**: the older brother is mine

**Warnings**: spoilers for the basics of both shows

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 590

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Leverage/White Collar. Parker, Neal, any. Neal and Parker are brother and sister.

* * *

Once upon a time, not so long ago in a not so far away land, there lived two brothers and a sister. The eldest was a sad boy named Parker and his younger twin siblings were Noah and Bethany. Parker and Bethany both had sunshine-golden hair while Noah's was dark as midnight. They lived in fear, shunted from family to family, for many heartsick years.

Parker did his best to look out for the twins, but when he was twelve and they nine, the three of them were finally torn apart. A month later, a sad-eyed woman told the twins separately that Parker was dead.

After five years alone in the system, in different cities, Noah and Bethany took themselves out of it. She fell under the wing of a master-thief and renamed herself Parker in honor of her brother. Noah fell in with a sweet soul called Mozzie who made sure that Noah stayed safe no matter what harebrained scheme he tried.

Parker (the original) was a good boy. He believed in the law. But the law got him killed, so Parker (the girl) and Noah (who never used that name anymore) decided that the law wasn't for them anymore.

Years passed, a decade and change. Parker never got caught, no matter what she stole; she was a legend, a ghost, a name with no face or body. But Neal(once known as Noah) was arrested, tried, and sent to jail, even though there was proof of only a few crimes.

And there he stayed for almost four years, dreaming at night of things he never did, of jewels he never stole and buildings he never jumped from, and he heard laughter he remembered, and a little girl saying, _C'mon with me_.

Neal escaped and got caught again, put on a leash and ordered to heel. So now he broke the law _for_ the law, his keeper a good man named Peter. Neal thought that if Peter had been their caseworker back then, he and his siblings would have stayed together.

From him, there was no higher praise.

Neal and Elizabeth, Peter's lovely wife, were at a gallery opening when a laughing blonde on the arm of a tall black man caught Neal's eye. Her sunshine-golden hair glinted in the light, and her eyes were familiar when they met his.

The blonde rushed across the room, sliding through the crowd like quicksilver, her companion following with a bit-off curse.

Neal left Elizabeth with no warning, slipping through the crowd like a breeze, and met her at the door.

"Bethany," he whispered, wanting so badly to touch her, to hold her, to assure himself this wasn't a dream.

"Noah," she murmured, longing her voice.

A moment of looking, studying each other's adult features, and seeing their brother's ghost, and then they were wrapped around each other, nine years old again as the world fell away.

Nothing else mattered. Later they would talk and laugh and cry. Later they would pick pockets and share alleged crimes. Later Peter wouldn't arrest Neal's twin and Elizabeth would invite a team of thieves to her house for dinner.

Later, two master criminals would curl up together and whisper stories about a wonderful boy named Parker, the best big brother in the world.

But for now, Neal and Parker (the thief) just gripped each other tight and stood in silence, while Elizabeth and Hardison made sure no one bothered them.

And when they pulled back slightly, they shared small smiles and said, _I missed you_.


	58. team spirit

**Title**: team spirit

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 45

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Team, Snowball fight.

* * *

Alec calls dibs on Eliot and Parker. Nate plans his assault with Sophie whispering in his ear, and Parker makes snowangels while Eliot rolls two dozen snowballs.

Alec will spend the next week claiming his team won. Nate will call it a draw.


	59. so much more dangerous

**Title**: so much more dangerous

**Fandom**: Chuck/Leverage

**Warnings**: pre-series for both

**Pairings**: pre-Bryce/Eliot

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 120

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Bryce/Eliot, not his usual type

* * *

Eliot usually prefers them rougher around the edges, a man who looks like he could take Eliot apart if he wanted—which, of course, couldn't actually happen, but the illusion is nice enough.

This one, though, is almost too pretty, is slick and cool, his eyes just as blue as Eliot's, and just as much of a lie.

This one, he's dangerous, alright, but it isn't obvious to look at him. He looks nice, and sweet, a gentleman who'd help little old ladies cross the street.

Eliot smiles at him, and he smiles back, asks Eliot what he'd like to drink, and he's so not Eliot's usual type, but Eliot's pretty sure he's not this guy's usual type, either.


	60. yea, though I walk

**Title**: yea, though I walk

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: somewhat sad

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 295

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot/Alec, "Don't even think about." "Never do." (Fantastic Four)

* * *

Their way out is actually a dead end, of course. Of fucking course. Alec's been shot, a graze on his thigh and a bullet in his shoulder. Eliot... well, somehow Eliot's still standing and cussing, glaring back the way they came. Alec's not sure how, but it does lend more credence to his theory that Eliot's a terminator.

This won't end well for either of them. Alec knows that, just like he knows Spock is the coolest mother at Starfleet and that Batman is the scariest dude in the world.

Eliot looks at him, then at the window that's a good six feet out of Alec's reach. "Hardison," he says, voice rough. "C'mere."

Alec is a goddamned genius, so he says, "Hell no. I ain't leavin' you behind, Eliot. No fuckin' way."

There's shouting from down the hall. The goon-squad'll find them soon, real soon.

"Hardison," Eliot says again. "This is _not_ a debate."

Finally, the coms connect again and Nate's yelling in their ears while Sophie demands to know what they're still doing in the building and Parker asks where they are.

Eliot mutters, "Nate, tell Hardison to do what I say."

The other three stay quiet. "What did you tell him to do?" Nate asks after a moment.

The shouting is closer now. Alec looks Eliot in the eye and says as sure and strong as he can, "I am _not_ leavin' you behind."

"Goddamnit, Hardison," Eliot bites out, and goons turn the corner.

Eliot quickly pulls his com out of his ear and drops it; Alec does the same.

He is sorry that he didn't say goodbye to Parker. Sophie and Nate, too, but mostly Parker.

At least, though, he thinks, he's dying with Eliot. There's nowhere else he'd rather go.


	61. strands of a web

**Title**: strands of a web

**Fandom**: Leverage/White Collar

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: vague spoilers for Leverage?

**Pairings**: Peter/Elizabeth

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 425

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Leverage/White Collar, Neal, Peter, Leverage Team, "You knew they were working a con, and you didn't stop them?" "Nope." "Why not, Peter?"

* * *

Fifteen years ago, when Peter was in Russia for his first deep-cover case, when he was about to get shot in the head after being made, a young guy burst through the door, killed all the enemy, and helped Peter to his feet. The kid was bleeding, swaying in place, and spoke Russian fluently, though his words were slurring together and Peter could barely understand him.

They helped each other to the nearest phone and Peter didn't report that anyone else was involved, even though the kid didn't ask him to.

o0o

Eleven years ago, Peter mentored a punk kid through a community program. That kid was probably the smartest person he ever met, except El and later Neal. He tried to teach the kid why the law was important, but he's pretty sure the kid only learned how to break it.

o0o

Nine years ago, Peter busted a corrupt general after three of his subordinates reported various inconsistencies in his finances. It should have been an internal investigation on the military's part, but an outside party also had some interesting intel.

Elizabeth's cousin Portia thanked Peter for his time, trying to keep the bruised half of her face away from him. Peter told her that she was still beautiful and had done the right thing.

o0o

Eight-and-a-half years ago, Peter grabbed the wrist reaching into his pocket. He turned to glare down at a tiny blonde woman. She glared right back, jerking away. He let her go and, making sure his wallet was still place with all his cards and cash, asked her if she wanted to get a meal with him.

After a long moment, she asked what was in it for him.

He said his wife wouldn't be happy if he were impolite simply because someone tried to rob him.

She laughed and said she'd like to meet his wife.

That afternoon, he had lunch with two beautiful ladies and El made a new friend.

o0o

Four years ago, Peter's step-brother's cousin's son died. Peter went to the funeral and watched a man he'd always respected fall apart.

o0o

Peter heard about Nate Ford's team, a band of thieves that did what the law couldn't, that stepped in where the law failed.

And when they got involved in one of Peter's cases, he knew what he wanted to do, but not what he should.

He asked El. She told him she'd already invited Portia and Parker to supper, and she wanted to meet his little brother.

When Neal asked why he didn't bust Nate Ford's team, Peter shrugged.


	62. need to know

**Title**: need-to-know

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 2

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**:165

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Eliot/Anyone, talking about the past

* * *

Eliot never mentions any time in his life before his twentieth birthday. He once told Sophie about the farm he was living at then, and the bay mare he'd loved. He only left when she died.

Nate and Hardison have both researched him, Nate when he was chasing a ghost and Hardison when he learned who his new teammates were. There are files upon files for Eliot Spencer, but none of them say anything real, anything beyond speculation.

But Eliot never talks about his life, beyond little tidbits that might relate to a case. And even then, with consideration, those tidbits are from after his twentieth birthday.

After the job in the boxing ring, Sophie thinks she's learned something important about Eliot Spencer. After Eliot gently coaches Hardison in self-defense, so does he. Eliot talks Parker through a nightmare and Nate off a bender, and they're all so sure they know him.

They don't, but that's need-to-know information and his past is his.


	63. give the devil his due

**Title**: give the devil his due

**Fandom**: Angel the Series/Leverage

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: mostly preseries

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 425

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Ats/Leverage, Lindsey, Eliot; fist fights and blood brothers.

* * *

Eliot hung out with the punks while Lindsey studied, determined to get far enough away to no longer be one of the hick trailer-trash McDonald boys.

Eliot was the trouble-maker, detention every week, barely passing (and even then, everyone knew it was only because of his brother; Lindsey knew it was just because school bored him even though he's plenty smart).

Most of the bullies left Lindsey alone, usually because of his brother, but also because he could talk rings around them until they didn't even remember what he'd done to annoy them in the first place. It helped, too, that while he didn't fight as much as Eliot, he _could_. A couple football players learned that their freshman year.

But then, their junior year, this new kid transferred in, some big-time jock who'd lead the football team to major victory. Problem was, he was dumber than a stump, and so Lindsey got tapped to tutor him.

Lindsey couldn't care less about football if he tried, and the jock didn't care about studying or raising his grades, but he needed to at least _pass_.

After three days, the jock just told Lindsey to take the tests for him, to do the homework for him, so that he got more time on the field.

The teachers wouldn't care, the jock said, and the bitch of it was, Lindsey knew that.

All the same, he refused.

(It wasn't so much his principles, just the jock's tone and attitude.)

And when the jock's grades sank even lower and he couldn't play the final game, so they lost... well, no one liked that, except Lindsey 'cause that was the bastard's due.

So the football team waited for Lindsey on the walk home, and a chill wind was blowing, and when the jock who refused to even _try_ lunged for him, Lindsey didn't stand there and take it.

His brother rushed up and they fought back-to-back, and it wasn't exactly a victory, or even a draw—

But some of those kids never played football again.

And years later, when Lindsey turned his back on Wolfram and Hart because he finally found principles and Eliot joined up with a group that did the right thing instead of what was easy, and Lindsey finally found his way home to his brother, it felt like when they stood in the middle of a pissed-off football team, them against the world.

Except, this time, the white hats wouldn't betray their allies at the final hour, and Eliot said, "'bout time you showed up, Linny."


	64. never either found another

**Title**: never either found another

**Fandom**: Angel the Series/Leverage

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Coleridge

**Warnings**: AUish?

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 220

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Leverage, Eliot/(+)Hardison, "Who the hell is Lindsey McDonald?"

* * *

Eliot's been unconscious in the hospital for three days. Parker's begun taking things from galleries and museums only to put them in another, Nate's been drunk for twenty-four hours now, and Sophie has convinced a dozen different men that she's a princess from a country that ceased to exist over two hundred years ago.

And Alec has sat in Eliot's room, accessing the internet from his phone, and making sure that their cover stories hold. He's taken charge because Nate's practically shut down and Sophie is panicking and no one in their right mind would give Parker any power over life and death, and if anything goes wrong, Eliot will die. He barely survived the job going south. Alec needs to keep watch over not only his team, but the bad guys, too.

So far, Vikerson hasn't caught Eliot's scent. Neither he nor his goons saw Eliot after the fight, so with any luck, they think he's gone to ground somewhere. Not lying helpless in a hospital bed.

So Alec is alone in the room with a comatose Eliot when the guy with Eliot's face storms in, wearing Eliot's _pissed-off and about to share the rage_ expression.

Alec stares at him, mouth and eyes wide, and the guy _snarls_, "What the **fuck** did your team do to my brother?"


	65. They were of fame, and had been glorious

**Title**: They were of fame, and had been glorious in another day

**Fandom**: White Collar/Leverage

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Byron

**Warnings**: pre-series for both; spoilers for season 1 of both

**Pairings**: gennish

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 325

**Point of view**: third

**Prompts**: White Collar/Leverage; Eliot/Neal; A year into his prison sentence, Neal gets his first letter; White Collar/Leverage; Neal/Eliot; A year after Neal started working for the FBI, he gets another letter

* * *

The front of the postcard is a fairly boring painting, a pastoral landscape that isn't even worth the cost of the brushes that painted it. There is no name, no return address beyond the city printed on the upper corner of the back.

The words are scrawled messily, barely discernable, but it is handwriting Neal learned how to read long ago.

_Thinking of you, kid. Wish you'd done a better job of not getting caught. Took care of some business in Europe._

_Tell Morrison he still owes me._

_See you when you get out._

Neal studies that second-to-last with a smirk. One mystery solved.

He'd been wondering why everyone gave him a wide berth.

o0o

He's been looking over his shoulder since the day he left prison (the first time), wondering when Eliot will clap him on the shoulder and spin him around and either kiss him or hit him. It could go either way, really.

But Eliot wasn't there when he got out. Hasn't stopped by. Peter hasn't mentioned Eliot yet, which means he's gotten better at slipping beneath the radar.

But he gets home from work one day, a year since he conned his way out of his cage, and June says, "You received a postcard today, dear."

The front is as horrible as the last one. If possible, worse. Such a _boring_ image, no life, no beauty. He wants to paint Eliot something gorgeous, show him how it's done, but Eliot's never appreciated art.

This time, the words on the back are shaky, like the fingers that wrote them were barely conscious. Neal's annoyance shifts to worry.

_Hey, kid, thinking of you._

_I've had a couple problems, nothing to worry about. Just some enemies I can't shake._

_I got a team now, though. And I know what you've been up to. We're still on the same side._

_I'll be by later._

_Tell June she doesn't need to watch out for the Butcher anymore._

Neal glances up at June. She simply smiles.


	66. a love gift utterly unasked for

**Title**: a love gift utterly unasked for by a sky

**Fandom**: Leverage/White Collar

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU for Neal's backstory; mentions of child abuse and non-con

**Pairings**: thoughts about Eliot/Neal; mentions of OMC/Neal

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 650

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Leverage/White Collar, Eliot/Neal, Neal didn't owe many people favors.

* * *

Neal doesn't owe many people favors. He goes out of his way to avoid it, actually. He learned early that anyone with power over him would abuse it, and he spent most of his life trying to reach a place where no one could touch him.

(Yeah, that didn't work out so well. But he knows, and he thinks maybe Peter does, too, that Neal could be gone tomorrow and not even Peter could find him again.

Neal's had almost two years, now, to learn how the FBI works from the inside. He could vanish in an hour and never leave a trail for Peter to pick up.)

Neal hates to owe favors, and there are three people in the world he knows he can never repay. He'll owe them forever, and the three of them will never ask him to settle the debt. None of them even think a debt exists.

Peter's the third, for this chance to go legitimate. And the way he keeps trusting Neal, the way he's let Neal into his life. Letting him have Elizabeth as an almost-sister, letting Satchmo sprawl all over him on the couch that no other agent would've let him touch. Treating him like something between a kid-brother and a son. (At least, the way Neal thinks a son should be treated. Not something he ever really knew before Peter.)

Mozzie's second, because of that thing when Neal was seventeen. Taking in a punk kid with a broken arm, bruises, and blood. Tucking him into bed with chicken soup and hand-feeding him when anyone else would've just thrown him back onto the street. It took Neal four months to believe Moz would never demand repayment, and that's why Neal will take any job Mozzie asks of him.

And Eliot. Eliot Spencer. That wasn't his name then, of course. Either of them. Neal wouldn't be Neal for ten years, and Eliot wouldn't be Eliot until he started retrieving the impossible.

Neal was six and Eliot ten when they met at the Danwall's, a foster family in Topeka. Eliot had a sister somewhere in the system and Neal was completely alone. Eliot was angry at the world; Neal was tiny and still dreamt of happily ever after.

Neal has had over two decades to think about those months. Every angle, every possible ending. Almost a decade of following Eliot's career, covertly, of course. Wouldn't do to lead the authorities to one of three men in the world he'd pick up a gun for.

And Neal has thought about what he'd tell Eliot, if he ever worked up the nerve to speak to him again.

(Vince Danwall always watched Neal. And Eliot always watched Vince.

Vince wasn't the first or last man to look at Neal like that, but he was the first to make a move. Eliot was almost too late, and he was barely eleven years old. But he did have surprise on his side, and a carving knife he stole from the kitchen.

Neal, Eliot, and another boy were taken from the Danwall family. Vince died before the paramedics arrived.

Eliot taught Neal that he could fight back, and it would be ten years before someone finally got the better of him.

And if he ever works up the nerve to show up at the apartment Eliot never takes anyone to, if he actually had the guts to knock on that door, he thinks he would kiss Eliot, and pull him close, and just soak up his warmth and his strength and his sheer presence.

Because that decade taught him that he could be something more. They're how he survived that night he collapsed a dozen feet from Moz and four years in prison.

He'd try to thank Eliot, but words don't exist for what a kid two days past his eleventh birthday gave a sobbing six year old.)


	67. I didn't want any flowers

**Title**: I didn't want any flowers

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: character death

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 250

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Leverage, Eliot + Team, well-meaning lies

* * *

He doesn't say _'tis but a flesh wound_ even though he wants to. Wouldn't Hardison be shocked, that he's seen Monty Python? The dead parrot is his favorite.

He doesn't say _it's just some bruises_, and he doesn't say, _just some cracked ribs_. It's worse than that. Hell of a lot worse.

They told him to quit lying about how badly he's hurt, to stop hiding the blood and broken bones. Said it's their job to take care of him after he takes all the bullets and hits.

More than that, they said, they wanted to make sure he was as safe as he kept them.

They've scattered, supposed to meet up at Hardison's safe house for this town.

He wants to say goodbye. But if they know he's this badly hurt, they'll come after him instead of going to ground. And this way, they won't have a clue until it's too late. This way, he's keeping them safe to the last.

Besides, it's not just a flesh wound. He can feel it, the silence and darkness creeping up. Not even a hospital could save him now.

He's on a bridge, collapsed against the railing. He won't jump; he'll let Death walk right up to him, but he won't go meet the bastard ahead of time. Instead, he pulls out the com and lets it fall into the water.

His last words to his team—his _family_—were _I'll see y'all on the other side_. It wasn't a lie.


	68. lay me down

**Title**: lay me down

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic, utterly depressing

**Pairings**: implied pre-Parker/Hardison/Eliot

**Rating**: PG

**Point of view**: third

**Wordcount**: 465

**Prompt**: Hardison (/or& Eliot /or& Parker); when it becomes _necessary_, Hardison can be just as much of a monster as _any_ of them.

* * *

Parker has been missing for three days. Eliot is in a coma. Nate crawled back into the bottle and Sophie is calling on favor after favor, none of which have panned out. Parker vanished into smoke, and no one knows what happened before Eliot was found, head broken open.

Alec has sunk himself deep into his connections, spreading himself across the entire network, and _there is nothing_. He can't find Parker, can't heal Eliot, can't help Sophie. Doesn't want to help Nate, since it was his fucking plan that blew all to hell, and Parker is missing. Eliot is dying.

Nate's broken, and Sophie's crying.

And then, _there_. One tiny mistake made by the people who took Parker, who shattered Eliot.

(Eliot got worse today, and Parker's been gone for nearly two weeks.)

Alec doesn't call Sophie, doesn't tell Nate. He visits Eliot in the hospital one final time.

(Parker's body will be identified by Sophie, using a cover Alec made a year ago. Sophie is Parker's older sister. She will cling to the officer who leads her back, sobbing like she never has for any con. This isn't a con. This is real.)

"I'm sorry," Alec whispers to Eliot, one palm on Eliot's hand, gently clutching his fingers. He presses a soft kiss to Eliot's forehead. So much he should have said, stagnating in his throat, never to be heard now. So much he never told Eliot, won't get the chance to tell Parker.

"You rest now," he tells Eliot. "My turn. I got this."

(Eliot dies without ever waking. Sophie claims the body. Nate drinks himself to death the following year.)

Alec once again sinks into his computer, determined to utterly destroy the men who killed Parker and Eliot, who will kill Nate soon enough, and money goes missing, messages are lost, covers are broken, and the government called in. The organization that defeated them falls within a month's time of Alec learning the leader's name. The leader lasts a day after that.

And Alec goes to the pretty spot Sophie picked, where Eliot and Parker rest under different names. Nate will join them in less than a year. Sophie never will because no one else will be left who knows that she should.

It would be easy for Alec to kill himself, join them here.

But Parker is laughing and Eliot scowling, and he knows they don't want him to, not yet.

(Half a decade later, when Alec is caught and killed because no team has ever been as good as the one that was his family, Sophie drops a con in the middle and claims his body and places him next to Parker.

When she dies in a hit seven years after that, no one claims her body and no one knows her name.)


	69. let that season be only Spring

**Title**: let that season be only Spring

**Fandom**: Leverage/White Collar

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: takes place sometime after season 2 for both shows

**Pairings**: Eliot/Hardison

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 240

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Leverage, Eliot/Hardison, Eliot tries to hide the panic he feels when Alec takes him home to meet his Nana.

* * *

They fly to New York under the names Tommy Finn and Harold Sawyer. Eliot can't believe it works. All he can think of, every single second of the flight and leaving the airport and taking a cab to Alec's Nana's house, is how much he'd rather be in prison somewhere, being tortured.

Alec is excited and babbling about the awesome places Nana used to take him, and all the lessons Granddad gave him, and how Nana promised him once that unless he did something unpalatably awful, like killing someone who didn't deserve it, she'd always bail him out.

Sounds like a pretty swell lady. Eliot is terrified.

o0o

"Alec!" Nana says, pulling him in for a tight hug. She's tiny and elegant and sharp, and Alec is babbling even more now, trying to introduce them, except his words tumble all over each other.

He hasn't been home, Eliot knows, since before Nate made them a family. Even from afar, though, somehow Nana pulled strings somewhere. When Eliot figured that out, that someone had Alec's back when even Eliot failed…

Well. He will thank her for that.

"Eliot Spencer," Nana says, pulling away to look at Eliot. "I've heard a great deal about you."

He inclines his head and says, "Ma'am. Alec talks about you all the time."

"Call me June." She smiles at him, takes Alec's hand, and turns to lead them inside. "C'mon, boys, lunch is waiting."


	70. only the summer was sweet

**Title**: only the summer was sweet

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton

**Warnings**: future!fic; character death

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 140

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Any, any, they used to be inseparable but now they only see each other once a year, always in winter

* * *

They meet at the gate. Walk in together.

Parker sets down a new bunny; she's cycled through the rainbow and is back at blue.

Hardison sets down a new comic; he's still on Batman. It seems to be the fittest.

Sophie sets down a pink rose and a Hershey kiss; he'd said they were his favorite, once.

Nate carefully collects the offerings and gently places them in the box with the others. As Parker, Hardison, and Sophie walk away, he buries the box again, filling in the dirt before shoveling snow back onto the grave.

There is no body. A steel box instead of a coffin. And the name on the stone is wrong.

Every year, on Christmas day, they meet at the gate and walk to the grave. Eight now.

It isn't enough, and he keeps shoveling the snow.


	71. wrung with wounds which kill not

**Title**: wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er heal

**Fandom**: Leverage/Angel

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Byron

**Warnings**: anytime for Leverage; post-series for Angel

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**:100

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Leverage/Angel, Lindsey!Eliot/Any, (S)he's fairly sure Eliot's wrist is broken, but (s)he's seen him shake off much worse injuries and now he's just stood there, white as a sheet, staring at his hand.

* * *

There is no way it's the worst injury Eliot has ever had. It took a moment for him to register the pain, and he was able to finish the job (of course), but now he's sitting in Hardison's get-away van, silent, staring at his hand.

"Eliot?" Sophie asks softly. "Darling, what's wrong?"

"Nothin'," he mutters, visibly shaking _something _off. "Just..." He clenches his hand into a fist, straightens out all his fingers, and bends each one. He rubs at his wrist, says, "Light sprain," and then, "Bad memories, 's'all."

He doesn't say anything else for the rest of the ride.


	72. tyrants tend gardens

**Title**: tyrants tend gardens

**Fandom**: Highlander/Leverage

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Betsy Sholl

**Warnings**: future!fic for both

**Pairings**: post-Methos/Eliot

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 355

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: irony

* * *

A job goes south. Everyone gets out but Parker, and Eliot is about to go back in for her when a familiar voice comes over the com: "Hello, little thief."

Eliot freezes. The others are silent. Parker says, "You have pretty eyes."

Methos—holy fuck, _Methos_, goddamnit all to _hell_—laughs. "You're lucky I was on shift today," he purrs, and that tone, _that tone_. Eliot remembers that tone. he loved and hated and worshipped and feared that tone. "Little thief," Methos says, "if you get to the roof in the next two minutes, I'll let you go."

Parker says, "You'll get in trouble," even as the others and Eliot yell, "Parker, GO!"

Methos laughs again, and Eliot shivers. "This job has grown boring anyway, my dear. Your little break-in is the most excitement in years." A pause, then, "Half a minute gone, little thief."

"Okay," Parker says.

Silence except for her breath. Eliot meets her on the neighboring roof and initiates his first hug in a long time. He doesn't say, _goddamnit, girl, you got any idea how lucky you are?_ or, _fuck, fuck, he's alive, of course he's alive, _or _we're all taking a vacation for the next __**year**_.

He can feel the buzz now, and knows the Old Man is letting him. Couldn't feel it before. Had no idea. Would _never_ have let the team take this job if he knew.

Methos is laughing at him.

Eliot doesn't say, _if it had been anyone else, you'd be dead_. Methos has always had a soft spot for the broken. His favorites were the ones he broke himself, but he'd be able to see how special Parker is. And he'd let her go. Any human guards, any other immortal…

But Death had her in his grasp, and Parker and Hardison and Sophie and Nate have _no idea_.

Death had her and let her go, and Eliot wants to yell at them all, the foolish, _lucky_ children, and he _can't_, and he _knows_ the Old Man is laughing at him about it.

Fuck it. He's taking them all on vacation, whether they want to go or not.


	73. beckoning a rage within

**Title**: beckoning a rage within

**Fandom**: Leverage/Supernatural

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Adrienne Rich

**Warnings**: slightly AUish for Supernatural

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 165

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Leverage/Supernatural; Hardison /or& any; Alec was one of Azazel's special kids, and sometimes... sometimes it shows.

* * *

The things Alec does with a computer are impossible. Thankfully, his team doesn't know. They're each experts in their areas—and sometimes he wonders what deals they made to get so good—but they really have no idea what he's doing, and what he shouldn't be able to do.

Azazel is dead. Alec never had to fight things out in Cold Oak. He's from the last generation, and he's the only one left.

He doesn't think about it anymore. Azazel is dead and Lucifer defeated and the world continues on. He sweet talks his baby and impossible things happen, and his team doesn't realize how lucky they are.

(There's a reason the marks never come after them. Nate shows off, reveals himself and the team, time after time after time. And nobody ever chases them for revenge. They think it must be Eliot's reputation, if they ever think about it at all.

Alec would have won in Cold Oak, if Azazel hadn't died.)


	74. I am laying flowers

**Title**: in my mind's graveyard, I am laying flowers at your unmarked feet

**Fandom**: Leverage/Supernatural

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Betsy Sholl

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 6; bitter AU

**Pairings**: past-Dean/Eliot; past-Dean/Lisa

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 560

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Leverage/Supernatural, Team Leverage + Dean, AU after 5x22, Dean leaves Lisa's almost right away in spite of his promise to Sam, and the Leverage crew finds itself with an extra Hitter.

* * *

Dean just needs to hit something. All the time. And he promised Sam he'd get out of hunting, go to Lisa and live his fucking apple pie happily ever after. He'll do one of the three, and he'll be fucking pissed about it.

He hasn't talked to Eliot since that time in the place with the thing, but he _really_ needs to fuck something all to h—_up_, and Eliot always knows where there's a fight.

And Eliot tells him, voice rough through the phone, that he could use some help watching his team's back, since there's a bigass target painted on 'em now, so Dean signs up.

There's nothing supernatural about it. No angels or demons or hellpits swallowing baby brothers. Just douchebags he can break all to pieces, and it feels _so good_. They just point him in the right direction and get out of his way, and he doesn't have to make decisions or ask questions. Just his fists, and knives, and every now and then a gun, because Eliot still hates them, but sometimes it's the only way out.

For a year, he's not happy, not even close. Not content. But he's living. Nobody can ask for more than that.

Eliot's been giving him worried looks since he first got brought on board, but none of the rest of them, Eliot's makeshift family who don't have a clue about that time in the place with the thing, know how to even begin to tell that Dean's more broken than Parker. (He wonders about her sometimes, but he just doesn't have it in him to ask anymore.) But Eliot won't start that conversation (Sammy wasn't there for that time in the place with the thing. Sammy isn't here now. Half a dozen goons go down hard and won't ever be getting up.) and Dean doesn't care about anything but the ache in his fists and the twist of a blade and how his gun jerks in his grip.

He's so very broken, and he won't kill himself, but he'll sure as fuck let himself die.

And finally, finally, after a year of looking for Death and his white ring of hellpits, Eliot slams Dean into a wall and demands, "What the fuck have you been doin'?"

Dean scoffs and shoves him away, saying, "You care now?"

Eliot grabs him again, pushes him back against the wall. "This is my _team_, you bastard. You can't keep half-assin' things! You'll get 'em killed."

Dean just sneers. "You want me gone, let me know, Spencer."

Eliot pulls back, looks at him. Says quietly, "I want you gone."

He doesn't tell anyone goodbye.

If possible, things get worse. This time, no one's there to watch his back. He's wanted a dozen places for things he actually did this time. Castiel shows up once to reprimand him for disgracing himself this way, spitting on his second chance. (More like his fiftieth chance, but what's the point in counting anymore?) Dean just keeps sharpening his knives.

And then he's on the losing end of a fight with a djinn of all the damn things, and he's barely trying, and maybe he'll finally be able to die and _nothing _will bring him back.

And then there's Sam. Dean lets himself fall back, spread out on a dirty floor, and he laughs and laughs.


	75. more things in Heaven and Earth

**Title**: more things in Heaven and Earth

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 42

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Leverage, Parker, "What is sexting?"

* * *

"Um." Alec's horrified gaze darts to Eliot, whose hand is frozen halfway to his mouth, the cracker crumbling in his grip.

"Parker." Eliot flicks his fingers to get rid of the crumbs. "Ask Nate."

"Okay!" she chirps, bouncing out of the room.


	76. stormy heart for stormy heart

**Title**: stormy heart for stormy heart

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Gilgamesh

**Warnings**: AU

**Pairings**: pre-OT3

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 415

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Leverage, Eliot/Hardison/Parker, Eliot confesses that he fights more than just people

* * *

Alec quietly panics, cycling through anything he knows about vampires - not much, since he focused on sci-fi instead of horror. He never got all that into Buffy, and he's been too busy to watch True Blood, even though Rogue sure grew up hot -

Focus, focus, the head goon - vampire, what the fuck? - is looking at Parker again, and that's so not cool, because ever since the first fang showed, she's been cowering on the floor like she knows something.

She's _Parker_. _Of course_ she knows something.

"How much like the movies is it?" he asks, crouching down next to her, trying to rein in his fear.

"Only magic kills 'em," she says. "But I'm not magic. You aren't, either." She looks up at him. "I think."

"Nope, not magic at all," he whispers. Shit. Magic's real, too.

He's learning all kinds of things tonight. Too bad he'll die before he can do anything about it.

"You morons!" the boss-vampire roars suddenly. "I told you - check all claims before bringing any food home." He touches one of the goon-vamps on the face and the vampire explodes.

Huh.

The rest of the goons back away, heads low.

Something cuts through the air and three of the goons burst into flames.

"He's magic," Parker says, uncurling and bouncing to her feet.

Alec can only watch in shock as Eliot cuts a swath through the vampires until it's just him and the boss left.

"You owe me," the vampire says. "I made you what you are."

Eliot laughs.

The vampire shouts, "Don't you dare!"

Eliot's hand moves, quick and sharp, and the vampire doubles over, screaming.

Well.

The vampire collapses; Eliot leans down to touch the back of his head and says gently, "Burn in the lowest ring of the Pit, Old One." Eliot straightens up and waits until only ashes remain before turning to look at Alec and Parker.

"C'mon," he calls. "Let's get out of here."

Parker rushes over, glomping him. He catches her and holds her tight, eyes still on Alec. Alec goes slower, unsure. Vampires and magic and Eliot killing without even touching.

The vampires should've checked the claim, that's what the boss said. What claim? Whose claim?

… and how did Eliot find them, anyway?

Eliot holds out a hand, as Alec comes into reach. Parker's still in his grip, as pliant as a kitten.

Yeah, okay. Magic. Alec can work with that.

He takes Eliot's hand.


	77. a hacker, a hitter, and a thief

**Title**: a hacker, a hitter, and a thief

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU; mentions of child abuse, character death, violence, and torture

**Pairings**: implied Eliot/Parker/Hardison

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**:

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Leverage; Parker, Eliot, and Hardison (or threesome!); they're the villains of this story.

* * *

Alec used to just hack because he could, to prove to himself that he was better than his father. The one time Nana caught him, she lightly swatted his behind and said, "Don't get caught again."

0o0

Parker stole a bunny once. Her foster father of the week smacked her across the face and snarled, "Be a better thief, little bitch."

Parker took the bunny with her when she left. Her foster parents were both tucked up neatly in their bed, throats slit, when the house exploded.

0o0

Eliot breaks faces. And femurs. He uses guns and knives interchangeably, and he answers to no man. He's killed in thirty-eight countries, his bodycount is in triple digits, and no one even knows his name.

Damien Moreau thought he hired a bodyguard. Eliot grew bored after a month. There wasn't much left when he finally moved on.

0o0

Alec is a world-renowned hacker. Parker is considered one of the best thieves. And Eliot? He's the nightmare young hitters get warned about, the one few ever believe.

The thing is, Nate knew all that. So did Sophie.

But knowing and believing? Completely different things.

0o0

A hacker, a hitter, and a thief.

They knew of each other, of course. The best and the brightest. Most dangerous.

"How long?" Parker asks, cuddled up against Alec while Eliot held them both.

Eliot shrugs. "I ain't bored yet," he says.

Alec kisses his chin, then Parker's cheek, and mutters, "Take us with you when you go."

Eliot thinks about that for a long time. All the way until Sophie's ambition threatens the two he's claimed as his own.

When Sophie's down, and Eliot's bodycount enters quadruple digits, he smiles at Alec and Parker. "C'mon," he says.

0o0

A hacker, a hitter, and a thief. Answer to no one but each other.

Legends. Nobody actually believes in legends.

More fool they.


	78. when death comes

Title: when death comes with its hood we won't be polite

Fandom: Angel the Series/Leverage

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton

Warnings: takes place during AtS finale and pre-Leverage

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 90

Point of view: third

Prompt: Angel, Lindsey/author's choice, trust.

* * *

When it all comes down to it, all you can count on is family. Lindsey's choking on blood, watching Lorne walk out the door, dying by Angel's order and Lorne's regret.

Thank fuck for failsafes, and the fact that Lindsey only trusts one person (being?) in any realm.

Gotta kill 'em both at the same time to kill either, and he feels his brother's rage in the back of his mind, sending strength and love and determination.

_I'll be there by morning,_ his brother swears, and Lindsey lets his eyes close.


	79. lightning strike

Title: lightning strike

Fandom: Leverage/Greek mythology

Disclaimer: not my characters

Warnings: minor language

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 155

Point of view: third

Prompt: Leverage, Eliot, "It's a very _particular_ type of [insert storm characteristic here. Lightning? Thunder?]"

* * *

Lightning flashes and Eliot _flinches_. "Fuck," he mutters.

Alec shares a bewildered glance with Sophie but Parker keeps making the celery dance while Nate flips through the TV guide. (And why he's reading paper-copy, Alec doesn't know. He'll worry about that later.)

"Somethin' wrong, Eliot?" Alec asks hesitantly after Sophie commands him with an eyebrow raise.

Eliot _sighs_. "No," he growls. "Just a distinctive lightning bolt, is all."

"A distinctive… lightning… bolt," Sophie repeats.

"Yeah." Eliot slams the bottle of vegetable oil onto the counter. "My daddy'll be by any day now, the fuckin' deadbeat." He scowls at the frying pan of carmlizing onions. "Sophie, don't let Parker outta your sight. Dad's got no self-control and if he touches her, I'll have to kill him again, king of the mountain or not."

Alec shares _another_ glance with Sophie, but this time he doesn't say a thing. He's not touching _that_ with a thousand foot pole.


	80. like the sea in a jar

Title: like the sea in a jar

Fandom: White Collar/Leverage

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton

Warnings: AU for both fandoms, but not a lot. Just taking advantage of two characters with the same last name; mentions of violence; timelines that don't really mesh but I'm handwaving; implied unfaithfulness

Pairings: Eliot/Neal, mentions of Neal/Kate, Peter/Elizabeth, maybe some implied Peter/Neal

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 1080

Point of view: third

Prompt: White Collar/Burn Notice or Chuck or Leverage, any, Peter hates it when Neal's old friend comes to town

* * *

The first time Peter sees him, Neal has just said goodbye, kissed him, and waved as he walked away. The man was shorter than Neal but broader, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. His hair, dark brown, was pulled back in a ponytail.

Peter didn't think anything of it, really. So long as Neal's personal life didn't affect the Bureau or their cases -

Okay, fine, he thought a lot about it. No need to be so smug, _Elizabeth._

_._

The second time, Peter saw the man's cold blue eyes and steely smirk as Neal shoved him towards the door, muttering, "Come back later, after work, you lug."

The man laughed, whiskey silk smooth and rough at the same time, and said, "Later, babe," kissing Neal on the lips quickly before sauntering down the stairs.

Peter knew that face from somewhere, but it slipped his mind when Neal got himself shot later that night.

.

Two days later, the goon who shot Neal before diving into a crowd of civilians to get away turned up on the Bureau's front step. Both his legs were broken, his hands duct-taped together, and the rest of him had been worked over professionally.

Peter thought a lot about it during Neal's recovery, but the mystery man didn't show his face again for months.

.

The third time, Peter was flipping through a list of known associates for Sofia Yelenez, a con woman who eclipsed even Neal, and saw the man's face glaring at him: Eliot Spencer, retrieval expert.

Of course, Peter pulled his file.

.

Peter stormed into Neal's loft without even knocking and demanded, "Did you know he was Damien Moreau's right hand!?"

Neal didn't even look up from his sketchbook. "Of course I did, Peter. I introduced them."

That… was not what he expected and his righteous anger deflated. "What?"

Neal did look up then, a small smile on his face. "You don't know everything about me, Peter, or who I was when I ran with him." He shrugged. "But that life is gone now." He focused back on his sketchbook and Peter gently closed the door behind him as he left.

.

The fourth time, Neal introduced them. "Eliot Donovan, my former keeper," he said grandly, "meet Peter Burke, my current keeper."

"Agent Burke," Eliot said, giving Peter a good handshake and not trying to break his hand. "Good to meet you, sir."

"You, too," Peter replied, not letting a single thing he felt show on his face or his body language.

Eliot smirked at him, though, and asked, "He tell you how we hooked up?"

Neal said, "That's not a story for polite company, Donny," grabbing him by the hand and tugging him away.

Neal managed to keep them separated for the rest of the night, all the while playing host for June's dinner party. And Eliot (Donny? Could that be his real name? Surely not… or maybe the name he used while Neal was – whatever Neal was.) just kept looking at Peter and smirking.

.

The fifth time, Sofia Yelenez and her entire team were in Neal's loft when Peter opened the door.

He didn't even try to arrest any of them, just sighed and turned around, saying, "I'll come back later, Neal. Try not to break any laws until then."

.

The sixth time, Eliot knocked on Peter's front door and Elizabeth let him in. Peter was immediately on his feet when he heard that voice drawl, "Thank you, ma'am." He scrambled for his gun, but it was safely locked away and he knew it'd be pointless, even if he had it. He'd need an entire SWAT team to take down Eliot Spencer, and even that might not be enough.

"Agent Burke," Eliot said. "I need a minute of your time."

"Is this…" El asked. "Should I go upstairs?"

Eliot shrugged. "I don't care if you hear, ma'am. It's about Neal." His lips twisted, like he couldn't decide if he should grimace or smile. "He was Noah Lafferty when we met, still just a kid who liked to draw." He paused, glancing away, at El, and then back at Peter. "He was boy trying to be a man, and he had a gift for pissing off the wrong people."

"Have a seat," Peter said, gesturing towards the armchair. "This sounds like it'll be long."

Nodding, Eliot said, "'bout ten years, give or take. Not consecutive, but that's about how long we were together, added up."

"He introduced you to Damien Moreau in those ten years?" Peter asked, pulling Elizabeth in close.

Eliot chuckled, but it didn't sound that mirthful. "Is that what the kid told you?" He shook his head. "I kept Damien from executing him when it came out that my stupid-ass partner was dating Damien's only daughter on the side."

"What," Peter said after a moment. "That couldn't - _what_?"

"If Damien hadn't been distracted by my team and then imprisoned by the people he'd been oppressing…" Eliot shrugged again. "When Katie died, New York would've been washed in blood." He looked down at his hands. "She was a good kid, but so much like her father. If I didn't let Neal make mistakes, though, he'd never learn."

Peter couldn't think of a thing to say.

"That's not why I'm here," Eliot said when the silence got too awkward.

"You mentioned something about Neal having a gift for making enemies," El said, squeezing Peter's hand.

Eliot nodded again. "My team and I have something in place to bring down the entire reason I ever met Neal. I'm offering you the chance to be the agent who brings the scumbag in."

"Tell me everything," Peter said.

.

The seventh time, Neal introduced Eliot's team, and Parker followed Elizabeth around like a duckling with Hardison trailing in their wake, and Sophie chatted with June about art, and Nate discussed cases with Peter.

"You happy, kid?" Eliot asked quietly, tapping the toe of his boot to Neal's ankle, where the tracking device was still whirring away.

"I am," Neal replied, smiling.


End file.
